Paradise
by Child the Great
Summary: Four passengers board Oceanic Flight 815 without realizing that this one airplane ride from Sydney to Los Angeles will change their lives forever.
1. What a Wonderful World

**Hello fans and readers! This is my first LOST fan fiction, and well, the only one so far that I truly have high hopes for. I've probably written about fifteen fan fictions, and only one was successful - a Hunger Games fic, but that was a whole different story . . . pardon the pun . . . anyway.**

**Sorry, I get so carried away sometimes.**

**So, I know that the LOST fanbase is dwindling. It makes me feel sad. Nevertheless, I'm writing this story and I truly hope it gets readers. That's all I ask for. Readers, reviewers, followers - all my book needs is a CHANCE!**

**I'll shout out to a reader if they ask a question in the comments, or if they say something I particularly like, or if I notice their loyalty to my book. I like giving shout-outs!**

**DAILY QUESTION: were all the survivors Candidates in the beginning and got crossed off over time?**

**Put answers in the comments below.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own LOST stuff. I do, however, own my lovely OCs, and some other things.**

**RATING: T for swearing, violence, and some mild sexual stuff. **

**Don't forget to review, follow, favorite, whatever :)**

**Keep calm and LOST on.**

**Here's to the numbers references and randomly mentioning LOST stuff.**

**Here's to long author's notes.**

**Book title: "Paradise" by Coldplay.**

**Thanks and happy writing! **

* * *

**Coree**

I wake to the sounds of a cacophony. Screaming. Screeching metal. Roaring engines.

My right arm hurts. Really hurts. What it really feels like is someone tore a chunk out of my skin and didn't use painkillers, and that's hardly an exaggeration. I lift my arm to my eyes so I can see it. My fingers and forearm are covered in wet, sticky blood, and I can tell that washing it off will be no easy task.

_Just breathe._

My headphones hang around my hang loosely, either turned off or not working after the crash. Someone in a suit and tie runs by, kicking up sand behind him. I stand up, pressing my hand against the side of my head to stop the world from spinning.

The hazy smoke and the sand floating in the air makes my eyes water and my throat hurt. My plane has crashed and it's all real, so why doesn't it feel that way? I look around - on my right side is an endless blue ocean, and on the left is an endless green jungle. Far behind the jungle, the ground rises to tall, jagged mountains. This place is so ridiculously stunning that I'd almost want to come here for vacation.

And then, down the beach, I see it. The plane itself sits in the sand, like a dying beast, but still very much alive. Both ends of it, the cockpit and tail, have both been ripped off. One wing juts into the sky and looms above the wreckage below. From the way it looks, it's only a matter of time before that thing will break and fall.

_My dance team. Where is my dance team?_

It's this, the thought of my team, that makes the reality around me hit me like a boulder. I was on this plane because of my _team._ How did I not think of them until now? How?

I feel tears of frustration spring to my eyes. What am I supposed to do, anyway? I don't see a single member of my team anywhere. I turn in circles, looking for something, _anything_, to give me even just an idea of where to look or what to do. Nothing.

The plane - the fuselage. That seems like the first place to look here. My feet subconsciously burst into a run and take me to the opening in the side of the fuselage. Usually I'd be too afraid to go inside a place like this, but this is my dance team. I'd do anything for them.

Before I go inside, however, I see Suit Guy, the one that ran by me earlier, calling to me and waving me over.

_Dammit,_ I think angrily. I don't have time for this. I need to get to my team. But how can I refuse?

I run over, skidding to a halt. Suit Guy looks me directly in the eye. "What's your name?" he asks, hand on my arm.

"Ummm . . . Coree." I feel unfocused. _Get to your team, dammit._

"Good, Coree. I need your help with something." He looks over his shoulder, and I catch a glimpse of the man lying in the sand behind him, unconscious. A piece of shrapnel juts out of his stomach.

Suddenly, the image of having a piece of shrapnel stuck in my gut pops into my head and won't go away. All I can think about is blood and shrapnel. Bloody, jagged shrapnel -

I think I'm going to puke. I need to stop.

"Yeah, I'll help," I squeak.

"That's fantastic. I need you to watch this man right here, just until I get back. Can you do that?"

_I survive a plane crash and this guy doesn't think I'm capable of just watching over a guy who probably dead already -_

I say, "Yeah."

He nods and, turning away, he runs back into the heart of the wreckage. I watch his dirty black suit disappear, wondering if that's really the last time I'll ever see him again.

I sit down in the sand, staring at the man I'm supposed to be keeping watch over. As selfish as I sound, I really wish I could ditch him at the moment. It's not like he's going anywhere.

Note to self: find out Suit Guy's real name.

Something in my gut tells me that I won't find my dance team anywhere on this beach. Alive, at least. My stomach plummets like a rock, and I forget about the crash. If my team had survived the crash and was here now, then I'd see them already.

I exhale a breath I had been holding, and I notice my eyes are wet.

The groan of metal above me makes me look up. My heart leaps in my throat when I realize I'm sitting right underneath the wing, the one that's sticking out. The one that's about to fall.

I'm sitting under an airplane wing that is about to _fall._

Terror seizes my heart. I turn to run away and make for a safer part of the beach, but then I remember Shrapnel Dude. I can't leave him. I don't want to be a coward. I told Suit Guy that I'd watch over him, and that means keeping him safe.

If I'm going to die today, I want to die a hero, right?

Chewing on my lip furiously, I run back, putting my hands under the man's armpits and pulling him as hard as I can. Not even a budge. I hear a familiar voice shouting over all the sound and whip my head around, eyes scanning my surroundings. Suit Guy runs towards a fat dude and a pregnant blonde lady, who sit not fifteen feet from me, yelling at them with his arms waving frantically. I can't hear what he's saying, but I get the gist: _move it or you'll both be squashed into jelly!_

Before he reaches them, he and I make eye contact for a fleeting moment. I'm not strong enough to pull Shrapnel Dude out of the way of a falling airplane wing, and he knows it.

In that split second, as the wing is about to fall and time is at a stand-still, I make a decision. All valor forgotten, I choose to ditch Shrapnel Dude and save myself.

I turn to run, to get out from under the wing. But before I can take one step, I see someone approaching me from the side.

Suit Guy is beside me in an instant. Without a word, he pushes me aside and takes Shrapnel Dude's arms, pulling him up. "Grab his legs!" he shouts at me.

I do as he says and lift Shrapnel Dude up from under the knees. The wing creaks loudly and, as me and Suit Guy carry away Shrapnel Dude as fast as we can, I see it starting to buckle.

"Move! Keeping moving!" Suit Guy yells, but his voice is drowned out.

It feels like my heartbeat is louder than the airplane, synchronized with the words resounding in my head: _move faster - move faster - move faster - move faster - move fast-_

I don't see the wing hit the ground. All I hear is a deafening shriek of metal followed by an explosion.

A moment later, I'm lying face-first in the sand. Sand and smoke flies up around me, and I can feel the heat from the explosion on the back of my legs. Suit Guy, seemingly unaffected by the blast, continues to tend to Shrapnel Dude by taking off his tie and using it to clean the man's wound.

"The pregnant girl - that man -" I start, but my sentence is cut off by a coughing fit.

He doesn't say anything; just continues his task.

I look around to see the damage. Down the beach, on the other side of the fallen wing, I see a familiar man and woman and realize it's the pregnant girl and the fat guy. I suppose they made it after all.

"Are you a doctor?" I ask Suit Guy.

He nods, doesn't speak.

My eyes wander to the fuselage. I think of my dance team.

_How will I help them?_ I think, because if they're in the fuselage, then it's probably too late to save them.

_Just stick with the doctor and things will be terrific._

My instinct has always been strong, and it's a good thing to rely on in tough situations. The voice in my head is the only thing I trust completely. So I listen to it.

"We should get him away from the fumes," Suit Guy says.

I grab Shrapnel Dude's legs and help the doctor carry him to the safer part of the beach.

* * *

**Ryan**

The funny thing about planes is that they never seem to crash in inhabited places. Only in deserted, dangerous, completely isolated locations that hold about ten percent chance of survival or rescue. It's just the way things are - kind of like how stepdads always seem to be jerks.

Today, my plane has crashed on a tropical island. A deserted tropical island.

The airplane is now nothing more than a simple shell. With all the engines dead and no more falling wings, the beach has gotten uncomfortably quiet in contrast to what it was like a less than an hour ago.

It's already five o'clock. The sun is still high in the sky, burning the skin on the back of my neck and making the sand too hot to walk on with bare feet. Rescue should be coming soon.

My right side is bleeding from a small gash, no bigger than a golf ball, but still painful. I must have scraped it during the crash. It seems small, so I try to pretend it isn't there and carry on.

I lie in the shade of a tree at the far end of the beach, watching people mill around the camp. As time passes and the sunlight starts to fade, the other survivors start building signal fires. The dim sky is lit with sparks and heavy smoke. It reminds me of the bonfires I would have with my mom and my real dad Kyle before they were divorced.

This makes me think of my step-dad, Ray Newton. My mother met him while we were living in Liverpool - he was an American, too. Five months later, they married. Three months after that, we moved to Sydney.

Let me tell you something about Ray: he's a self-centered son of a bitch. And he hates me.

He was with my on the plane, and I haven't seen him since the crash. I'm surprised to find myself somewhat . . . relieved. Every second I had to spend with that man was misery. I blame him for turning my own mother against me, and for making us move from Manhattan to Sydney, and for making me board Oceanic Flight 815. I don't care if he's dead. I just can't.

Down near the fuselage, I see the fat guy stacking the airplane meals. I stand up, wince, and head down the beach so I'm one of the first ones to receive a meal.

Just before I get there, I'm stopped by a man wearing a Oregon sweatshirt. He looks like an Ugly Discount Marlon Brando. "Hello there," he says with a voice as annoying as nails on a chalkboard.

"Hi," I say shortly, waiting for him to move. He doesn't.

"Is something wrong? You look like you were favoring your right side." He points to right where my injury is.

I glare at him. _What is his problem?_

"Maybe you should let a doctor look at it," he says. "You wouldn't want it to get infected."

In any other situation I would have told him to piss off, but I'm strangely too exhausted to be my usual sarcastic self. "You a doctor or something?"

"No, no." He laughs. "I'm Ethan."

"Okay," I say, and not caring about being rude, I walk right past him before he can talk again. The sooner I get away from this creepy pedophile, the better.

I march right up to the fat guy, who was gathering up the airplane meals in his arms. "You're handing those out, right?"

"Yeah," he answers. "You want . . . chicken or lasagna?"

"Doesn't matter."

He hands me the top one, then stuffs a utensil bag in my hand. "Thanks," I say.

I take my meal back to the treeline. I think about the rescue planes.

_What now?_

* * *

**Leo**

"Hey, man."

The fat guy, the one I saw earlier, sits down next to me in front of the signal fire. He hands me an airplane meal. "You hungry?"

"Thanks," I say, taking the tray.

"Eat up." He hands me a utensil bag. "We may be here for a while."

I smirk. "What, you don't think rescue'll come?"

"Dude, I _know_ they're gonna come. So, what's your name?"

"Leo."

"Nice meeting you, man. Hurley." He sticks a hand out. I shake it casually, and we both crack up.

I stuff the last piece of my food, a chicken meal, into my mouth. It doesn't bother me that the chicken is cold and a bit slimy. I've never been so hungry in my life.

"So were you travelling alone on the plane?" Hurley asks.

I feel my stomach drop and I nearly stop chewing. "Uh . . . no."

"Oh." Hurley suddenly looks uncomfortable, like he knows what the obvious question is.

I look at him. "I was on the plane with my sister. She was in the bathroom when we crashed."

"Oh, man . . ." Hurley looks at the ground, shamefaced. "You know, the rescue team is gonna look for the other survivors when they come. She's gonna be okay -"

"I know," I say. "They'll find her. I know they will." _They have to._

There's a silence between us. I feel Hurley watching my face, like he's trying to decipher me.

"Well . . ." He stands up, brushing the sand off his pants. "I gotta go bring these meals to the others. It was nice talking to you, dude." Before he walks away, he pats my shoulder. "Don't worry, man. She'll be okay."

"I know," I respond again. He hesitates, then walks away.

I scrape my tray clean, then set it on the sand beside me. My eyes stare into the fire as I sit, brooding. The chances of my sister, Natalie, being alive are slim at best, but somehow, I _know_ she's alive. It's a feeling I can't explain.

I have to find her.

"Hey, you there. What your name?"

I tear my gaze away from the fire. An Arab man, his face hardened, looks down at my hunched figure.

"Uh, Leo . . . ?"

"Leo, we could use some help building these signal fires. The more the smoke, the easier it is for the rescue plans to spot us."

"Okay," I say, not really wanting to get up just after I sat down. I reluctantly stand up, stretch, then start to head for the treeline. I feel people's eyes on me as I walk. I know it's because I'm a kid. I bet they're all wondering why I'm not with my parents. Or just an adult. They don't understand why a kid would be by himself after crashing on a deserted island.

_I'm almost fifteen,_ I think angrily in my head. _And I saw other kids without parents, too, so why am I the one that _-

That's when I hear it.

The crash comes so suddenly I nearly jump out of my skin. My feet scramble back quickly, tripping and catching myself in time. The sound comes from the jungle, the jungle I was just about to enter, loud and eerie. It's a noise I can't describe. The best brand name that pops into my head is _dangerous._

Something is out there in the jungle.

The others heard it, too. They gather around the jungle, not too close. I squint to see what it is, but in the darkness, I can only see the moving trees and branches being torn away.

The loud _tck-a-tck-a-tck-a _sound it makes reminds me of a . . . monster.

A chill runs down my spine. Collecting firewood looks even less appealing now.

* * *

**Jess**

Nobody is going to sleep tonight.

8 o'clock, and the camp is still arguing about the monster. I sit on the airplane wing eating my gummy worms, watching people sit around the fires and debate. Some people say it was monkeys. Some say it might have been a fallen bit of the plane. And, my favorite one of all, someone even thought it was a dinosaur. Of course it was a dinosaur - after all, we are on a deserted island that nobody knows about.

Just as I'm biting the head off of my last gummy worm, I hear manly voice above me. "Got any more of those?"

I glance up. It's the southern guy that was sitting in the row across from me on the plane. He gives me a charming dimply smile. "Nope," I respond, popping the last one in my mouth.

"Now, I've seen some pretty crazy stuff in my time," he says, sitting next to me, "but there ain't nothing as crazy as what I saw out in that jungle."

"You should go join the debate," I say, fiddling with the gummy worm bag. "I hear they've cooked up some real good ideas."

"Oh, yeah? What about you, sweetcheeks?"

"I was never really the social one."

"Hmm. Me, neither." He gives me another creepy smile. I give him a withering glance.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "Want one?" he asks, offering me a cigarette.

"I don't smoke."

"You got it, blondie." He opens the lighter, lighting his cigarette after a few tries. "How old are you, anyway?" I see him checking out my chest.

"Old enough to know when someone's flirting with me," I say, eyeing him. The corners of my mouth twitch but I don't give in to the temptation.

He laughs, cigarette bobbing. "Hell, girl, that went down quickly."

"I've got an eye for those things," I tell him.

"Well, I can't say I'd be surprised that you've been with a lotta men before -"

"Don't get too excited, redneck. And you're wrong."

Smirks. "Alrighty, sunshine. What do _you_ think the monster was?"

"I told you I'm not into debates."

"What," he says while shoving the lighter back into his pocket, "you're not at all curious what it is?"

I shrug. "We'll all be off this island by tomorrow and it won't matter by then."

I look over at the fuselage. Sitting on the sand is a small girl, probably the size of an average nine-year-old, but I can tell by her body and face that she's a teenager. I nod in her direction. "Where do you think her parents are?"

"Who the hell is _her_?"

"That girl over there. She's alone."

"Uh-huh. So?"

"You know what?" I stood up, brushing sand off my pants. "You sit here and wait around on your ass all night. I'm actually going to _do_ something."

I hear him sigh. "She bites."

I refuse to dignify this, so instead I walk away from him.

I drift over to the girl and sit next to her. I notice a few things I hadn't seen from afar: the puffy redness of her eyes, the dried blood on her arm, the tension in her shoulders. She looks . . . not so good.

"Hello," I say as kindly as I can. Unfortunately, being _kind_ really isn't one of my strong suits.

I don't hear her answer, so I dive right in. "I was wondering why you were alone."

No answer. "How old are you?" I ask.

This time, she looks at me. I'm surprised to find her eyes lit with anger for a split second. Her voice is low and husky as she responds. "Fourteen."

"Ah. Ninth grade. Cool."

There's an awkward silence between us. In a desperate attempt to be friendly, I tell her, "I'm Jess."

"Coree." Neither her voice nor her face shows any hint of expression.

"So, why were you alone?" I ask.

Her face turns red and for a second I think she's mad at me, but then I see the tears threatening to spill over her eyelashes. It suddenly occurs to me that asking about her family might not be such a good idea.

In fact, I can only now think of one reason for why she's alone: her family died in the crash. And asking her about that is _definitely_ not a good idea.

Despite this, she answers. "I was . . . on a dance team."

Again, I'm taken by surprise. Then, I know absolutely nothing about dance, or any other sport for that matter. The only sport I did was basketball in junior high. So, the only thing I manage to say is, "Oh."

"We were flying from Boston," she says, and I hear her voice crack. A single tear streams down her face. "We had this big competition in Sydney. And another one in LA." More tears. "Our parents weren't on the plane."

"Oh." I don't know what to say. "So . . . so, you're from Boston, huh? Do you . . . like the Red Sox?"

Some more tears fall, but her voice is clear. "Yes."

There's another silence. By now I know that I could never be a therapist.

"My team is gone," the girl says suddenly.

I look at her. I'm not sure why I'm shocked.

"I looked for them," she says. Her eyes are closed shut. "I looked. They weren't in the fuselage. They're not on the beach."

"Oh," I say. Again.

"I don't know where they are. They're just . . . missing." She opens her eyes. They burn with anger again. "How does that even _happen_? How can my whole dance team just disappear? And where the hell would they even go?"

"The tail split off in mid-air," I say, trying to be helpful. "Maybe they're somewhere else on this island." After a moment, I add, "The rescue party will find them."

"What about that monster?" she asks.

"I wouldn't worry. It's probably just some pissed-off sloth or something," I say in a lame attempt to seem funny. Funny isn't my strong suit, either.

I can tell by the look on her face that she's not in the mood for humor. "I just . . . it just doesn't make sense."

She's right. At the moment, nothing makes sense.

I don't know how to answer. I don't know how to comfort her.

So we sit in silence and wait for rescue, watching the stars appear in the night sky.

* * *

**Chapter title: "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong.**

**So, I know that the first chapter is always a little boring. Honestly, it was extremely hard and boring for ****_me_**** to write, but I got through it! I promise, after this first chapter, things will get more interesting.**

**See y'all around! Thanks and happy writing!**


	2. Fortunate Son

**A/N: Hello lovelies! I'm back with Chappie Two. This chapter is a jumpstart for later chapters. I hope you like.**

**So, I have a major problem with stories that are all quote-the-show's-dialogue-word-for-word stuff. In my book, I'll try to avoid using the movie's dialogue to the best of my ability, which might also mean changing teensy-weensy little things in the plot. I like being original, and I hope you guys don't mind it. However, there will be some brief instances where I do end up using a quote here, a line there from the show. Cool?**

**Remember to read, review, follow, favorite, whatever!**

**DAILY QUESTION: When Harper comes to Juliet in ****_The Other Woman_****, is she real? Or is she Man in Black? Is she a whispery person? So, basically, is she dead? And, if she is dead, how did she die? If she isn't dead, how did Ben get to her?**

**Okay, okay, I know that was like, a million questions. Still, it's been bugging me and ma sis for a bit.**

**Thanks and happy writing!**

* * *

**Jess**

Day Two on Monster Island. And, much to everyone's frustration, no rescue planes have been spotted.

I decide to help organize some of the baggage. The doctor guy, who's been taking care of the marshal with the shrapnel, said that people should start clearing away the dead bodies and bringing the baggage to one big pile.

While lugging bags back and forth and tossing them in the pile, I notice a black and gray duffel with the name _Coree Cosenzo _written in marker on the side. Curious, I go to find Coree immediately. She's sitting on the airplane wing, using a cloth to scrub the dried blood off her arm.

"Hey," I call. She looks better compared to last night. "I think I found your bag."

Her eyes light up, and she sets the cloth down. "Really?"

"Yeah. Your last name Cosenzo?"

She nods and smiles, the first time I've seen her smile. She takes the bag from my hands and hugs it tight, like a toddler would with a teddy bear.

The lifeguard boy, the one who's probably a year or two younger than me, comes to me, his face severely burned from the sun. "We're going through the rest of the bags and sorting the clothes," he says. "Wanna help?"

I _do_ want to help. I nod.

The beach looks much more organized with the dead bodies gone and the bags in one pile. Up the beach, close to the treeline, the doctor set up a tent for the marshal. From what I heard, he went with a woman and another man to look for the cockpit and bring back the transceiver this morning.

I kneel in the sand with my back to the water, sorting through clothes. In one pile, I have the sensible clothes - jeans, cargo pants, t-shirts, a few bras, some tops, sweatpants and sweaters. The other pile is mostly things like shorts and suits.

To my right is a blonde Aussie, heavily pregnant, and a few other survivors that I haven't talked to. I haven't gotten any names yet, all I know is what people look like - the black guy and his kid, an Asian couple, the lifeguard, the doctor, and some more.

"Hey, can you pass that?" the pregnant lady says.

I look up at her. "What?"

"The water bottle right there. Can I have it?" She points to an Oceanic water bottle. I hand it to her.

"Thanks," she says. "I'm - I'm Claire."

"Oh. Jess."

I can't help but stare at her stomach. She must be - what, eight months into her pregnancy? I wonder why she'd be flying airplanes so far in.

"No, I don't know if it's a boy or a girl," she says suddenly, grinning.

I open and close my mouth, taken by surprise. "How'd you know I was gonna ask that?"

"You wouldn't be the first," she tells me. Her Australian accent makes me smile.

I'm about to talk again when I hear, "Hey! Hey, stop, that's mine!"

Someone climbs over the pile and snatches away the duffel bag in my hands. It's a teenage kid with short brown hair and a large blood stain over the right side of his abdomen.

"It's mine!" he says again, like I didn't hear him the first time.

"I'm sorry, I was just _sorting_ the clothes!" I say, irritation flaring up inside of me.

"Yeah, then I'd never see my stuff again," he growls. "Anyway, sorting clothes is pointless when rescue'll be coming any minute -"

"Why don't you help out over here instead of making it harder for the people who _are_ helping -"

"Oh, come on, blondie -"

"-and maybe you could stop waiting around for rescue and give a hand -"

"- I don't have to do anything, I don't even _know _you -"

"Hey! Just shut it," says a voice. It's the British hobbit guy with blond hair, stepping over the airplane wing. He must have just returned from his little hike across the island. "Everyone's fighting so bloody much around here."

As if on cue, I hear shouting from across the beach. Two men are locked in a fist fight, surrounded by a crowd of uneasy-looking survivors.

"What's that about?" Claire asks, squinting with her face turned to the fist fight.

I shrug, giving the kid in front of me a fixed glare. "Dunno. I'm not gonna get involved."

The kid scoffs and turns away, climbing back over the pile. I notice him wince as he does so.

The fist fight has stopped. I recognize the doctor among the crowd, talking to the others.

An hour or so later, I find myself curious about what happened. Maybe they found something at the cockpit, something to help us get rescued. I stop sorting laundry and head down the beach, which has calmed considerably. I recognize one of the two men that were fighting as the southern guy I talked to last night. I don't recall him ever telling me his name.

The other man, an Arab, leans against the side of the fuselage, holding a black walkie-talkie thing. It must be the transceiver from the cockpit, something that the doctor brought back.

Even more curious, I walk up to him. "Hey, what happened out there?"

"Which part?" he asks with a heavy accent, focused on the transceiver in his hands.

"At the cockpit," I say. "Is the transceiver broken?"

"Not broken. It just isn't picking up a signal."

"Okay. Anything I can do the help?"

I can tell by the way he looks at me that he thinks I'm not old enough to understand or something like that. "What's your name?"

I cross my arms. "Jess."

"Jess. I appreciate your concern, but I think I've got this under control."

I purse my lips. "Some of us here just want to _do_ something," I say firmly. "I need to help."

He hesitates. I can't tell what he's thinking until I see acknowledgement pass across his face. Then he finally says, "Alright. If you want to help, go find me the woman that brought me this transceiver. Her name is Kate. She was with the doctor last time I saw her."

"Got it," I say, then, "Hey, what's your name?"

"Sayid."

I nod, heading off quickly.

The doctor is in his tent, sitting in the same spot since returning from his trek. He kneels next to the marshal, shrapnel looking, if possible, worse than yesterday. "Where's Kate?" I ask, leaning against the top of the tent. I find being straightforward is the easiest way to do things.

He shakes his head, not looking up from his work. "I don't know. She went down that way last time I saw her." He points behind him, down the beach and towards the water. When I go looking, I find her bathing in the ocean.

"Hey!" I call. "You're Kate, right?"

She turns around, hair dripping. "Yeah?"

"Sayid is looking for you. He's up the beach by the fuselage."

She nods, turning to wash herself some more.

Wandering back to Sayid, I can't help but wonder how we'll be able to use the transceiver to call out to rescue ships. Those goddam rescue teams just can't locate us on Monster Island.

"Where's Kate?" Sayid asks when I reach him.

"Kate's coming," I tell him. "She's be here in a minute or so."

"Good." He gazes intently at the transceiver, like he thinks if he can stare at it long enough it will transform into a banana.

So, how _will_ we get a signal?" I ask Sayid, leaning against the fuselage.

"With such low battery, broadcasting blind to a ship would be unwise," he says. "If we wanted to get a signal anywhere on this island, we'd have to go somewhere higher up."

"Oh . . ." I point towards the mountains. "You mean up there?"

"That would be the best place, yes," he says.

Looking at the mountains again, I can't help but think that trekking all the way up there would be like trying to climb up the side of the Eiffel Tower. Damn.

Kate comes back to me and Sayid, dressed in real clothes and drying her hair with a towel. "Did you fix it?" she asks.

Sayid goes on to tell her basically what he told me - how we'll need to climb up the Monster Mountains to be able to use the transceiver. "If we're going on a hike, you'll want to start packing now," he says to me and Kate. "It may be a long walk."

With my suitcase nowhere to be found, I haven't got much to pack. But I try anyway. I make a note to find my bag after this.

Grabbing a brown backpack from the sorting pile, I stuff it with some Oceanic water bottles, an extra t-shirt and socks, and two more bags of gummy worms that I had bought along with the first on the plane. I replace my sandals with hiking boots.

However, before leaving with Sayid and Kate, I need to do one more thing.

I find Coree standing in the water and looking out at the ocean, sweatpants rolled up and legs swaying with each coming and going wave. I secure the backpack buckle around my waist and stand next to her.

"So, spotted any rescue boats yet?" I say jokingly.

"No," she says, looking at me. Considering she's fourteen and I'm almost twenty-four, the fact that she's not much more than a few inches shorter is a little embarrassing for someone like me.

"Listen, I'm going on a hike. I won't be back for a while. You okay with that?"

"Another hike, huh?" she says. "Didn't someone go on a hike just yesterday?"

I laugh. "Yeah. They did."

She sighs and crosses her arms. "See you when you get back." Then, "_If_ you get back." She turns to me again, unsmiling but still with a sense of humor. "Joking."

When I get back to Sayid and Kate, I see we have some added companions: the hobbit, the lifeguard, and the lifeguard's sister.

Kate's look says, _Oh, joy._

And, what do you know? Just as we're heading into the jungle, the southern guy joins us. Him, of all people.

From the looks on everyone's faces, nobody is happy about that. Especially Sayid.

"Let's go," Sayid says, brushing past him. We all follow him without a word, getting further and further away from our camp and deeper into Monster Jungle.

* * *

**Ryan**

I saw a dog this morning. It was a yellow lab, just standing there by the treeline and staring at me for a moment before running away.

Lifting up the front of my shirt, I take a look at the injury in my side that I got from the crash. The wound seems considerably worse since earlier - an angry shade of red and so painful it aches. The wound itself has stopped bleeding, but somehow I'm not comforted by that. It looks bad.

I guess all I can do is leave it alone and hope for the best. So I lower my shirt and forget about it.

Turning my head, I watch a group of seven or so people head off into the jungle. Another trek, another stupid and worthless adventure. I don't understand why they bother. Rescue is coming.

I stand up slowly from my spot in the shade of the trees, hand pressed against my side protectively. I'm too restless to stay in one place very long. Rescue is late, but that doesn't mean they're not coming. For all I know, they could be flying to the island at this very moment.

I turn around to take a pee in the jungle.

The dog is back.

He stands under the trees, wagging his tail and panting like a normal dog. I notice a collar on his neck, something I hadn't seen earlier.

Something about him creeps me out. _Get him._

"Come here, boy," I call. "Come here. Good dog. Come here."

I step forward.

The dog turns around and sprints away the moment my foot touches the ground, barking loudly.

Catch him! Catch him!

For some reason, I _want_ that dog. So much that I even chase him into the jungle without a second thought.

Running ahead of me, I hear him barking and occasionally see his yellow tail through the underbrush. I'm not a long-distance runner, but I can really sprint, even with an injury. Playing football for seven years can do that.

I run and run until I begin to hear voices up ahead. I skid to a stop in the middle of a clearing.

It's the group that I saw heading off on that little hike thing. When I appear, they all jump and turn to look at me accusingly.

"Did any of you see a dog run through here," I pant, "with a collar?"

"No," says the Brit, a grin spreading across his face. "I saw a dinosaur with a fedora."

"What are _you_ doing here?" says the blonde girl, the one I fought with earlier. She glares at me with her arms crossed.

Under my breath I mutter, "Awesome, it's the PMS girl."

"Excuse me?" she snarls, starting to move towards me. The Arab guy holds her back.

I glance at each one of them. "What you all doing?"

"We're trying to get a signal for the transceiver," says the cute brunette lady, irritation written all over her face.

"You coming with us or staying, kid? 'Cause we haven't got all day," says the grouchy blonde. With the fire she's breathing, I feel like she's going to pull out a rifle any moment and gun me down.

I take a moment to decide. I don't really care about any dumb transceiver - rescue _is_ coming - but this trek is starting to sound like fun.

Apparently I take too long to think, because the blonde scoffs and says to the others, "Come on. Let's just go."

Giving me some last glances, the group starts to head further into the jungle, leaving me by myself.

Oh, come on.

"Dammit, wait up!" I call, running forward to catch up with them.

* * *

We trek on for hours. Somehow I fall in in step at the front of the group with the Arab and the southern hick. Along the way, I learn names - Sawyer, Sayid, Boone, Shannon, Charlie, Kate, and Jess.

I'm not exactly sure where we're going - somewhere to boost a transceiver signal? I can tell by the glances and the dirty looks - especially from the dragonlady Jess - that I'm not wanted. A dangerous hike into the Heart of Darkness is not for little boys like me. Well, to be honest I'm done with all the looks and the glances and being treated this way.

Everything gets even better when the we reach cliffs. _Cliffs._ I look around incredulously, but everyone else looks perfectly fine with climbing up the side of a mountain. At least, their faces show no sign of fear.

I feel someone push my shoulder. "Scared yet, kiddie?" says Jess.

"Get bent, blondie," I tell her.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sayid asks me. He eyes the blood stain on my shirt. "It's alright to head back to the beach."

"Jesus, people, I'm fine." I scowl and take one of the vines, pulling myself up. My side twinges in protest, but I ignore it.

We begin our slow ascent up the mountainside. As we get farther up, I begin to fall into a pattern: grab a vine, put your foot down, pull yourself up. Grab, foot down, pull. The hardest part to it is placing your hands and feet in the right spot, otherwise you could find yourself falling to your death.

Grab, foot down, pull.

My side twinges. I see Shannon and her pretty boy brother Boone next to me, struggling just as much as I am.

Grab, foot down, pull.

I'm starting to regret deciding to come on the stupid trek.

Grab, foot down, pull.

When it seems like the suffering will never end, we finally reach the top. Sawyer leans over and grabs my arm, pulling me over the ledge. I grit my teeth as my injury gives an extra strong burst of pain.

"That was fun," Charlie comments cheekily as I stand up, panting.

I lift my shirt just a little and take a peek at the wound. It's bleeding again, just a tiny bit. I see Kate watching me, so I lower my shirt and stare right back at her until she looks away.

"We should keep moving," Sayid says as Boone pulls Shannon over the side of the cliff. "We don't want to waste any daylight."

Nobody argues. So we plow onward.

Since I tend to end up in the front, I find myself hanging out with Sayid and Kate again. Sayid spends the next hour fiddling with the transceiver, barely even noticing when the rest of us start to lag behind. He keeps it up much longer, and we all might be eating his dust.

"So, what _did_ happen at the cockpit?" Jess asks loudly, striking up a conversation with Charlie.

"Well, let's see," he says. "It was very exciting. Something you'd totally like." She laughs at this. "We went inside, found the broken transceiver, met the pilot, who, by the way, was torn to bits by that -"

Kate stops in front of me, frowning. "What?" I ask.

She doesn't answer. The rest of us go quiet.

"Why'd you stop -" I begin.

"Shh." She puts a hand to my chest, staring intently into the greenery before her.

For a second I think the woman has gone insane. Hearing things.

Then I hear it, too.

Not far away, I hear a growl - a low, guttural animal sound that makes my spine tingle. I peer ahead to see what it is, but the tall grass hides it from view.

"What the hell is that?" Jess mutters cautiously, hands balled up in fists beside her.

It growls again, snorting. I see the tall grass moving and can hear the animal moving towards us.

"What _is_ that?" Jess repeats, louder.

I can see it coming closer.

"We have to go," Kate murmurs. "Run." The thing comes closer. "Run! Run!"

Before I can even react, everyone is running. Kate grabs the back of my shirt and pulls me along. "Run! Now!" she yells at me, pushing me forward.

My feet pound into the dirt as I sprint through the grass. The pain in my side . . . I almost can't take it anymore. I press my hand against it so hard that it bleeds even more. I need water. I need medicine. I need to get away. Why the hell did I come on this hike in the first place? Now we're all going to get eaten by a monster -

My foot lands on a rock and my ankle twists. Before I even know what happened, I'm lying face-first on the ground and the only thing I can feel is pain. Someone puts their arms around my torso and drags me back to my feet. I see Jess's face behind me, yanking the collar of my shirt and pulling me forward. "Go faster!" she shouts at me.

I keep running with Jess behind me, wondering when the monster is going to catch up to us. I wonder if it likes the taste of kids -

_BAM!_

I almost stop when I hear the gunshot. I see Jess falter a little too. A _gun_? We all turn as more shots are fired.

_BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!_

"What the -" Jess moves forward, peering ahead. I notice Kate and Sayid behind us, all looking in the direction of the gun.

I realize that we're missing one person. One person, who did not run when everyone else did.

Sawyer.

How the hell did Sawyer get a gun?

The jungle has gone silent. The only thing I can hear is everyone else's ragged breathing.

Jess goes to check it out, and we all follow her. When I get there, I see Sawyer standing with gun in hand. And lying on the ground in front of him is a large white animal . . . a bear.

"That's a . . . polar bear," Jess murmurs.

I find myself wincing again. I've gone crazy.

* * *

_"How about you, dear? Would you like me to refill that?"_

_The stewardess pointed to my plastic cup of coca-cola, which was almost empty. I shook my head. "Thanks, no."_

_She smiled and pushed her cart down the aisle. I turned to Ray. "I need to go to the bathroom," I told him._

"_Hold it," he said flatly._

"_I can't just hold it," I said, but he ignored me. I scoffed loudly and turned to look at the other people in first-class._

_Such was a typical conversation with my step-father._

_Ray had his pen and paper, filling out paperwork or other business-like stuff. There was never a moment in that man's life where he wasn't working for his job as the owner of a growing sneaker company in Australia. He never had time for me or Mom - he chose work over his family. _

_I glanced around and fidgeted. The plane was mostly quiet except for the quiet hum and the occasional exchange between a passenger and a steward. I turned to Ray again. "Listen, I really need to go," I said._

"_I'm sure you can wait. We only have . . ." he checked his watch. "Six hours left until landing at LA X." There was a hint of amusement in his voice._

"_Are you serious?" I muttered at him. Firmer, I said again, "I need to go to the bathroom." After no response, I said, "If I were with mom, she'd let me go."_

"_Excuse me?" He folded his paper to look at me, eyes unblinking and dangerous._

"_We both know she only put me on this plane with you because she wants us to 'work things out'," I said in a low undertone. "Only she doesn't know that some things can't be worked out."_

"_You're on this plane," he growled, "because I thought a little vacation to California might do you some good. Your mom never _did _anything."_

"_Oh, really?" I challenged him. "Then why isn't she here now?"_

"_Stop trying to make me seem like the bad guy here. You should be grateful."_

"_For what? You never talk to me, never hang out with me. When was the last time you even asked me how my day was?" I asked, so angry that my voice had gotten louder than a whisper. "And now, out of the damn blue, you want to take me on vacation to LA? And you expect me to believe that mom had nothing to do with this?"_

"_Keep your voice down!" he growled. "You're making a scene."_

_I had had enough. I stood from my seat and began to walk away. Ray twisted around and tried to catch me, but I jerked my arm out of his grasp and stormed down the aisle. Screw him. Screw Australia. Screw LA. _

_I locked myself in one of the free bathrooms near second-class. This was my chance to take a piss, but instead I just stared at myself in the mirror. I wanted to punch Ray in the face and break all his fingers and throw him off this plane. That dickless douchebag ruined my life. He destroyed my relationship with my mom, turned her against me, made us move to Sydney for his stupid little sneaker company, and doesn't even act like a father or a husband. He's the perfect definition for _jerk.

_The plane shook. A part of me wanted Ray to come and get me, to just talk to me, but the other half told me it wasn't going to happen. Ray wasn't going to embarrass himself in public just so he and I could talk. He wouldn't care if I died in this bathroom._

_I wanted to snap his fucking neck._

So, what's stopping you? _said the dark side of me. I know how horrible I sounded, but my fingers were literally itching to punch him, strangle him, break his arm, anything. _Why shouldn't I?

_It's not like _he _ever bothered to restrain himself._

_The plane shook again, a little harder this time. I heard an announcement on the intercom: _"Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the _fasten seatbelt_ sign. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."

_I didn't want to go back to my seat. This was probably just a bit of wild turbulence anyway. So I stayed in the bathroom._

_I leaned against the sink, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. _I'm going to use the bathroom here, then go back to my seat. I'm going to forget that we ever fought, and so will Ray. I'm going to stay there until we land. I'm going to survive these next few days in LA until we go back to Sydney, home shit home . . .

_The plane jerked wildly, sending me flying against the mirror. My head snapped back as I hit the floor, and for a moment my vision went fuzzy. When I regained focus, I pulled myself up to my feet and reached for the doorknob. The plane was shaking so violently, I could barely stand without slipping. I jerked the doorknob - but it wouldn't turn. _

_Shit._

_I turned it again, shook it, but it was stuck tight. I didn't know why - maybe it was jammed. The plane jerked harder and I slammed into the ground, sliding into the far wall. Wincing, I reached for the knob again, pulling it and tugging it while trying to keep myself standing at the same time. The soap from the sink was flung across the tiny room, missing me by inches. _

_This was happening. And I was stuck in a dumb bathroom._

_I felt anger boiling up inside of me. No. I was _not _letting this happen to me._

_I stepped back, bracing my hands on the edge of the sink, and kicked at the door. Then again, harder. When I kicked it the third time, it burst open, flying off the hinges. Using the walls to balance myself, I staggered towards the nearest seat, pulling on the yellow oxygen mask. _

_The sounds were . . . unbelievable. All I could hear was screaming and plane engines. The plane was dropping so fast, it felt like my eyes and eardrums were going to pop out. The oxygen mask wasn't giving me enough air. I sucked in as much as I could, but the more I tried, the harder it was to breathe. My head felt dizzy. Why couldn't I breathe? _

_The fear was getting to me. I felt nauseous, but my struggle to regain my breath was overpowering everything else. I was afraid. More than anything else in my entire life, I was afraid._

_A few seconds later, my eyes rolled up in my head, and my vision went black. I couldn't remember anything after that._

* * *

The bear is dead, and everyone is pretty shook up. We march on like nothing happened, even though I know it's on everyones' minds. After Sawyer shot the bear dead with the mysterious gun (which he supposedly got from the marshal), we hiked on as planned. Well, Kate took Sawyer's gun first. Man, she's hot.

Sayid sidles up to me a few times asking me if I'm okay (while they ever leave me alone?), and I brush him off. At the moment, I just want to be left alone. The pain in my side has become almost too much to bear, but I haven't got a choice but deal with it, so I'd rather not talk about it.

I blame the dog for all this.

"I thought we went on this little hike to check the radio," Sawyer says loudly. "Now'd be a good time, right?"

Sayid doesn't answer, but I see him turning on the transceiver anyway. He presses a button, and after moment, he murmurs something inaudible.

"What?" I ask, stopping.

"Bar," he says. It takes me a moment to realize that he's actually smiling. "Hey! We've got a bar!"

"What the hell does that mean?" I say, but he doesn't hear me. The next moment, everyone is crowded around.

A shrill, piercing sound comes from the radio's speaker. Everyone winces.

"What's that?" mutters Jess.

"Feedback," Sayid says. "Something's already transmitting. Something close to us - the signal is strong."

"What? How?" Kate asks.

"I don't know. We can't transmit unless it stops."

I roll my eyes. "What is he even talking about?"

"Shut up," Jess tells me, but it sounds like she's too distracted to be mean.

Kate runs a hand through her hair. "Okay. What do we do?"

"We may be able to listen to it if I can get the frequency." He turns a knob above the transceiver's screen. The static from the speaker gets softer, and something else come through: French.

Everyones' eyes widen as a female voice starts babbling French from the speaker.

"That's French, right?" Charlie says, grinning. "It's the rescue team! They're already coming to get us!"

"See, that's what I've been saying this whole time," I tell him. Nobody listens.

Kate's face becomes serious as she turns to us. "Does anyone speak French?"

Boone points to his sister. "Shannon."

"What?" She shakes her head. "No, I don't!"

"What are you talking about? I've heard you speak it!"

Before she answers, a new voice comes from the transceiver. It's male this time and sounds like those robotic voice mails that you get when someone doesn't answer their phone: "_Iteration . . . 1 . . . 7 . . . 2 . . . 9 . . . 4 . . . 5 . . . 3 . . . 1."_

"Does anyone know what the hell is going on?" Sawyer yells.

Nobody bothers to tell him to shut up. The static starts to grow louder, and Sayid says something Arabic under his breath. "We haven't got much time, the battery is dying."

"Shannon, come on!" Boone urges, having some sort of staring contest with his sister.

Finally, Shannon snatches the transceiver from Sayid. "Fine!" she muttered, putting it to her ear as the French woman's voice came on again.

"It's repeating," Sayid says aloud. "A loop."

"What?" says everyone at the same time.

"It's a running count of the number of times the message has been repeated," he explains. He looks deep in thought.

The robotic voice came on again: "_Iteration . . . 1 . . . 7 . . . 2 . . . 9 . . . 4 . . . 5 . . . 3 . . . 2."_

"It's about thirty seconds long, so . . ." He closes his eyes and begins muttering under his breath. "How long . . ."

Shannon takes a deep breath. "She's saying . . ." she falters for a moment. "She's saying . . . 'please.' She's saying . . . 'please someone come.'"

Sawyer scoffs. "She doesn't even speak French -"

"Shut up!" Jess yells at him. Everyone falls silent.

_"Iteration . . . 1 . . .7 . . . 2 . . . 9 . . . 4 . . . 5 . . . 3 . . . 3."_

"I'm alone now," Shannon translates, her lower lip trembling. "I'm all alone on the island. . . please . . . someone come. The others . . . they're dead . . . it - it killed them. It killed them all . . ."

The phone makes another shrill sound, then it dies completely. The battery ran out.

"Sixteen years," Sayid says, breaking the moody silence. "Sixteen years, that's the count."

"What?"

"It's a distress signal. The iterations. Someone transmitted this . . . sixteen years ago."

"Someone?" Charlie murmurs. "Who?"

"Someone who was on the island before us?" Boone asks. Sayid doesn't answer him.

"So, the distress signal has been playing over and over for sixteen years," Kate says quietly.

Nobody says anything. Nobody wants to. I feel the hair on my arm rise.

Sixteen years is a long time.

And none of it makes sense.

* * *

**Chapter title: "Fortunate Son" by Creedence Clearwater Revival.**

**I know this chapter was long, and I hope you guys enjoyed. OH MA GAWD POLAR BEARS AND FRENCH SIGNALS! (Let's pretend we don't know what they mean!) Vincent's kinda mysterious, isn't he?**

**Next chapter is starting to get into the later-stuff, if y'know what I mean- faster-paced and more exciting. Can't wait until my story gets into all the REALLY exciting stuff!**

**So, whatd'ya think? Don't forget to read, review, follow, favorite, whatever! :D**

**Thanks and happy writing!**


	3. Top of the World

**Hello peeps!**

**Can I just ask one thing of you guys? If you're gonna read, please review. I think that's a common courtesy that everyone on Fanfiction should know.**

**QUESTION: why do people think Ben is sexy? I can't fathom it.**

**Anyway, hope you like. Read, follow, favorite, and PLEASE review!**

**CG**

* * *

**Coree**

_Dear Izzy,_

_It's day five in Crapville - a.k.a. the island. Last night I saw a real boar for the first time. They were ugly. Today, the bald guy, Kate, and Walt's dad are going hunting. Why? I don't know._

_Love, Cor._

* * *

The eight o'clock morning sun beats down on me as I sit by the doctor tent, playing with a twig. There's really nothing to do. Everyone's preparing to burn the fuselage right now, something I'd rather not participate in.

When I see Jack coming, I stand up. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," he says, heading into his tent.

"Do you have any aspirin?" I ask. "Y'know, headache."

"Yeah? How bad is it?" He turns towards me.

"It's nothing bad," I say, recognizing the look on his face. It's the look everyone wears when I tell them my age. "Just a headache, Jack."

"I'd love to give you some, but I think Sawyer has the aspirin," he says. _Of course he does,_ I think wearily. "He took it from the fuselage. You might have more luck with him."

I snicker humorlessly. "Luck. Right." Forcing a smile, I say, "Well, thanks anyway. See you around."

I don't go to Sawyer, probably because I know he won't give me anything. Instead, I wander around camp, looking for a quiet place. With everyone bustling around, looking for firewood and searching through bags, it's hard to find a moment's peace.

Having no luck, I plop down next to Claire. She's a cool person to be with in boring times. I cuddle up in the sand and she smiles at me.

"You're one of the lucky ones," she comments.

"How's that?" I turn on my side to look at her.

"You're one of the only people here who's found their bag," she says, rummaging around a bag with her hand. "I've already given up on mine."

"I don't have much in my bag anyway," I say. "I was in Sydney for a dance competition. It was mostly . . . costumes and hairspray."

"And mine was mostly baby toys and maternity stuff," she says with a glance towards me. We both laugh.

She freezes for a moment, her hand pressed up against her belly. "He's kicking," she whispers.

I look at her, finding myself smiling. "_He_?"

"I dunno. I guess . . . I just keep saying that." She rubs her belly, then reaches into a bag and pulls out a white booklet with pink ribbons. I crane my neck to see what it says. "Steve and Kristen," she reads aloud.

"Who are they?" I ask.

"They were sitting a few rows ahead of me," she says, smiling absently. "I think they were going to be married."

It takes me a moment to understand the "were" in her sentence. They died in the crash.

A cold chill creeps up my body. I feel the need to be alone. "I'm going to go stretch my legs," I say, turning and trudging away with my hands stuffed in the pockets of my pants.

I decide to change my clothes. My sweatpants aren't the creamy white color they were before the crash - now they're more like rusty brown.

Since Jack took me under his wing, I've been sleeping in the doctor tent with him now, and it's where I've kept my bag. I open the tent flap to find someone other than Jack already in there: Ryan, the other kid. Jess told me that they fought a bit.

I can't tell what he's doing, but the first thing that I notice about him is the way he's kneeling: hand on knee with his knuckles nearly white, leaning heavily to his right while clutching his side.

"Hi," I say, nonplussed.

"Hi," he answers tightly, giving me a defensive and, strangely, hurt look. _Easy, man. I didn't do anything._

I wait for him to explain why he's sitting in my tent, but he doesn't.

"If you're looking for water, then we put it outside -" I start to say.

"Where's Jack?" he asks, cutting me off.

I raise an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Just get him," he says, rushed. I'm not sure how to react to the bizarreness of the way he's acting, but I head out to look for Jack anyway.

The doctor is, of course, helping with the whole burn-the-fuselage thing. It was his idea in the first place. I call out to him and bring him back to the tent, where Ryan still sits in that awkward position on the floor.

"What's wrong?" Jack squats next to him, getting all doctor-ish.

Before answering, Ryan glares at me over Jack's shoulder. "Does _she_ have to watch?"

I huff. "Easy, man, I don't mean to hurt your pride or anything."

"She's okay," Jack says. "Tell me what's wrong."

Ryan hesitates, then lifts his shirt. I crane my neck to see what's underneath: a puncture wound about the size of a tennis ball, as colorful as the sunset. I find myself gawking at it.

"Why didn't you come to me earlier?" Jack says, giving Ryan one of those icy Jack looks.

He shrugs. "Dunno."

_He's too proud, proud, proud,_ chirps a voice in my head.

Jack grabs a bottle of peroxide from his medical kit and a clean cloth. "What's that for?" Ryan asks uneasily.

"The wound," Jack answers, like there's nothing particularly wrong.

I feel queasy. I hate alcohol, especially when put together with _cleaning wounds_.

Jack lifts Ryan's shirt and unscrews the peroxide, getting some on the cloth. "This is gonna sting," Jack advises. I can see Ryan visibly perspiring now.

Jack presses the cloth up against the wound, and Ryan inhales sharply. "Hold still," Jack mutters as he starts cleaning his side again.

Ryan grips Jack wrist with white knuckles. I can see him clenching his jaw. _Well, I'm am so glad I'm not the one with the injury._

Ryan sucks in another breath and I decide to leave. It must be humiliating with me hovering over, and I can't watch anyway. I've had enough of blood and bad news.

As I'm heading over to sit under one of the big trees for some shade, Jess runs into me. "Hey," she says. "I'm going on a hike."

"Again?" I say, disbelieving.

"I won't be long," she says quickly. "I'm going with Michael and Mr. Locke. Oh, and Kate."

"So, why are you going on this hike thing?" I ask tiredly.

"Well, why not?"

I sigh. "I just . . . I don't see the point. I'm sure we can find food without having to hunt boar -"

"We can't," Jess says. "We checked. We have to do this, Coree." She hesitates for a moment, then lowers her voice. "When we went on the hike for the transceiver, we couldn't actually send a mayday."

"Why not?" I whisper.

"There was something else blocking it. Another . . . mayday. But listen, Coree, that's not important -"

"Not important? What makes you say that's not important? Oh, and what, you didn't think the camp should know about this?"

"Coree, we didn't want people to lose hope," she says, grabbing my arm. "It was for the best."

I grumble under my breath. People act like I'm too young to be capable of understanding anything, so they never tell me anything, and next thing you know, "_Oh - it was for the best._" I guess Jess is no exception.

"Anyway, Sayid has sent me and Kate on the hunt so we can boost the transceiver signal. We're going to try and . . . I guess you could say _override_ the other signal with our own."

"Okay," I mutter. "Okay. See you 'round, then."

Jess pats my shoulder and slings her backpack over her shoulder. But before she leaves, however, she stops in her tracks.

She turns towards me again, looking thoughtful. "You know what?" she says quietly. "I'm going to go tell Sayid I'm staying."

"What?"

"I'm not going to go on the hunt." She puts her backpack down. "Boosting the signal doesn't need to be a two-person job. Kate can do it."

"You change your mind fast," I say. "I hope you're not staying for me."

She shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe not. I've had enough treks these past few days."

"Don't get too concerned," I say flatly. "You'll be longing for another trek in no time."

She laughs. "Lemme go tell Sayid. He's a good guy, he'll understand." She trudges off, leaving her backpack in the sand.

I grab my journal from my special thinking spot - down the beach from the fuselage, where I'm still close enough to the other survivors to feel safe but not too close to hear the rustling and bustling. If I weren't afraid of being alone, I would have already left the fuselage and headed for a nicer, more peaceful part of the island.

Sitting under the trees with my journal, I write another entry:

_Dear Izzy,_

_I'm not sure of anything. There is nothing to do, nothing to think about except worrying. I don't know how to feel anymore. Should I be anxious? Sad? Angry? Hopeful? Sometimes I want to smile and forget about how suckish everything is, and then five minutes later, I want to look out at the ocean and cry. I feel like a shell. Or a porcelain doll. Any day now something will happen and all my feelings will sha -_

I'm interrupted when someone walks up to me. "Hey," says a voice I recognize.

Ryan stands above me, smiling - really, the first time I've ever seen him smile. Funny, how I've only known these people five days, and yet it feels like they're all old friends.

"What happened?" I ask, unable to contain my curiosity. "Jack was - your injury -"

"I'm okay," he says, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "Doc fixed me up. Told me to not touch it, all that good stuff." He sits down next to me and shows me his stitches. "Relax, it's not the first time I've gotten stitches." He lowers his shirt. "What'dya call that thing, where doctors talk to you, make you feel good, say positive stuff about you no matter how screwed you are -"

"I think you mean bedside manner," I say, eyeing him with a slight grin.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Bedside manner." He leans in. "His sucks."

We both laugh. I think we understand each other - how nobody treats us with respect because we're kids, how we just want to prove ourselves. I can see it in his eyes.

When we look at each other, we understand.

* * *

_"Haley, pass me that spray!"_

_"I need fake eyelashes! Mine fell off."_

_"You're not serious, right? I JUST had my jazz shoes!"_

_"Ladies and gents, Cover Girl on in ten!"_

_The backstage was packed. You could hardly move without bumping into another dancer, tripping over makeup kits, stepping on other people's feet, smudging your lipstick._

_We were ten minutes away from my fourth - and last - dance of the day. Sydney had proven to be a success. Just one more number, then we'd be headed on another plane to Los Angeles for more dancing. This was Pen's - my studio, Penick School of Dance - biggest competition._

_"Coree! Can you put in some bobby pins for me?" Ty called. She handed me a few and I stuck them in her blonde hair. Our last dance, Cover Girl, called for a ponytail. For a curly-haired person like me, I had to spend a half-hour straightening my hair just so I could wear a ponytail._

_"Boys and girls, let's starting heading out!" called one of the adults, herding us through the doors._

_Cover Girl was our best one yet. As a class favorite, everyone loved performing it. Afterwards, we were extremely pleased to find it had received a high gold._

_At the end of the day, we got silver. Second place, out of everyone. It was huge._

_My mom came to me with a bouquet of flowers. "I've never seen you dance better!" she praised._

_"Now we just have to win gold in LA," I said, a big smile on my face._

_Mom hugged me tight. "Where's your sister?"_

_"Izzy was talking to Miss Amy last time I saw her . . . Oh! There she is. I see her."_

_I waved Izzy over. Mom kissed her on the forehead. "What do you say, how about we go get a treat?"_

_"Yes! Please," I said, fanning myself. It got real hot when it was this crowded._

_As we drove over to the nearest ice cream shop, I said to Mom, "It's weird you don't fly with us on the plane."_

_"I'm on a different plane," she said. "The one right before yours. Like a school field trip."_

_"Just saying, we have to be back at the hotel by nine," Izzy reminded us. "You know . . . I'm really tired. Can we not take too long?"_

_"Geez, I thought older kids go to bed late," I commented. "You're two years older than me. And anyway, I thought you liked ice cream."_

_"I did! I mean, I do!"_

_I cackled at her. She kicked my seat. Ah, making fun of her was so amusing._

_As we drove into the ice cream shop's parking lot, I couldn't help but smile. It was one of those moments - when you truly, purely feel good._

* * *

The memory of my dance team brings tears. As I sit alone under the night sky, looking out at the dark, deep ocean, tears stream down my face. I'm overcome with emotions. The porcelain doll has shattered.

I want to just give up.

I'll never see my team again, and I'll never know why they're not with me. The truth is, they probably flew out the broken end of the plane. They're probably dead.

I'll never see my sister again.

Eventually I cry myself dry, leaving myself numb and cold as I sit alone. I feel like I have a rock weighing me down, making me want to fall and never get up. My body droops with exhaustion, but I know I could never sleep. Tonight, I'm going to lie awake.

Someone comes up behind me and sits next to me. It's Jess, her light blonde hair contrasting against the ocean's dark blue waves. "Hey," she murmurs, putting her elbows on her knees.

I nod back to her silently. God, I hate this feeling. The feeling of never-ending sorrow.

"I notice you like to . . . sit here and watch the waves." She points to the ocean. "Are you okay? You can tell me the truth."

I stare at my hands. My stupid, worthless hands. After some hesitation, I shake my head. "No."

"Coree . . ." Jess trails off, head turned towards me. The expression in her eyes makes anger flare up inside of me - she pities me.

"Do _not_ look at me like that," I growl. "Don't look at me like I'm some fragile, defenseless baby that you get to protect. I don't need protecting."

With my sudden outburst comes more tears. They come fast and hard, streaming down my face before I can even try and stop them. I bury my face in Jess's shoulder, letting it all pour out.

Look at me. Here I am, telling her I don't need protection, when it turns out I'm much more emotionally frail then I say I am. Who am I fooling?

I feel Jess's hand rubbing my back. When I first saw her, Jess was tough and mean, someone who could knock you out with one punch. Now, I see her kinder side, something that reminds me of my mom.

"I know you're confused," she says. "I know what you're going through."

I sniffle. "How?"

She gets a strange look in her eyes. "It doesn't matter. What I'm saying is, you don't have to be unhappy. Don't let your emotions control you. Forget them."

I wipe my tears. "But my team -"

"You don't have to forget about them, either. You can still remember them, but be happy. Sometimes the best way to remember someone is by being who you were when they were with you. Does that make sense?"

I think about it for a moment. It makes no sense, but somehow, I understand it. I wipe my eyes with the heels of my palms and nod. "Yes."

"Just . . . keep thinking positive," she says, squeezing my hand. "Keep up hope. Just let it go."

I give a shaky breath and nod again. I hope she knows what she's talking about. Strangely, I think she does.

"Everyone is up by the fuselage right now," Jess says, pointing over her shoulder. "They're about to burn it. Claire's doing some sort of memorial thing, too. Wanna come?"

That fuselage was my only chance of finding my team. But since it seems they're not actually in there, I might as well just . . . . let go of it. "Okay," I answer Jess, and she helps me up.

The other survivors stand around the fuselage as the fire is lit. I hold on to Jess's hand as we watch the flames go up, giving the beach a soft, warm glow.

Claire reads off the names of the deceased. The names of my team members are mentioned. I understand that the other survivors must assume that they're just dead passengers. And although they may really be dead, I'm not giving up so quick.

I feel peaceful.

Me and Jess keep holding on to each other's hands, and we watch the fuselage ebb away under the flames. I'm letting go.

* * *

**Chapter title: "Top of the World" by the Dixie Chicks.**

**Hope you guys enjoyed. I know it wasn't a multi-point-of-view chapter, but that didn't change much. **

**Read and REVIEW and follow and fav and do whatever :D**

**Thanks and happy writing!**

**CG**


	4. Crossroads

**Here's chapter 4! Can't believe how fast this is going . . . :)**

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**CG**

* * *

**Ryan **

Island drama. It just gets better and better.

Yesterday was very . . . eventful. First the water went missing, then the doc went missing too, then it turns out the pretty boy lifeguard took the water, and the doc came back and gave a long speech.

Jack found a waterfall up in the valley, in some caves. Fresh water to use as a "supplement." Some people are headed there now to bring water back with them - Jack, Kate, Charlie, Jess, and Locke.

Coree has been fussing over my stitches all morning. I guess with both Jack and Jess off on the hike to the caves, she's got nobody else to hang with. She keeps trying to put a bandage on it, cleaning it, and other worthless stuff.

"You know you're not supposed to touch it," I tell her.

"No, _you're_ not supposed to touch it. He never said _I _couldn't." She gives me a smirk.

"What, you a doctor now?" I mutter. She laughs. "Alright, Medicine Woman. Whatever you say."

"I can't believe how fast that thing is healing," she comments, pointing to my side. "The stitches are already falling out."

"You sound proud," I tell her with a raised eyebrow. "As if you even did anything."

"Oh, and I suppose you did?"

"I went to Jack," I say.

"We've been on this island seven days," she says, giving me a shark grin. "I think it's time you start caring for yourself."

"What! You're the one that came to me and told me how to clean my stitches, I didn't ask for anything -"

We're interrupted by a commotion down the beach. Me and Coree look at each other at shouts and screams fill the air. Without a word, she and I are racing towards the shore to see what happened.

For a moment I can't make out the situation, but then I see it. The Korean guy - I think his name is Jin - kneels in the water. Someone's in the water under him.

As I look closer, I see who it is: Michael.

Jin raises his arm - _SMACK!_ His fist makes contact with Michael's face. With Jin kneeling on top of Michael, hand around his throat, I can't tell if he's trying to beat him to death, or strangle him first.

_Why would Jin beat Michael?_

I get the feeling this is beyond racial stuff.

Jin's wife stands a few feet away, screaming at the top of her lungs in Korean. Some of the other survivors stand and watch. "Why are you all just standing around?" I yell. "Do something!"

Jin punches Michael again, then again and again. I see Michael's son try to stop him, but Jin sticks a hand out, and the kid falls on his back. Coree grabs my arm urgently.

"Do something!" I shout again at the crowd.

Finally, I see Sayid and Sawyer run forward, heading straight into the surf without hesitation. Sayid barrels into Jin, putting an arm around his neck. Sawyer helps Michael to his feet.

"The handcuffs!" Sayid yells as Jin struggles under his hold.

"What's going on?" asks Leo, one of the only other kids from the plane (and, the most annoying).

"Another fight," Coree tells him a bit breathlessly, not looking away as Sayid drags Jin away from the water. "It's bad."

_Another fight_, a voice echoes in my head.

More drama.

When Michael recovers, I don't even have to hear what he's saying to tell he's angry. Whatever is going on, I'm sure as hell glad I'm not part of it.

"Come on," Coree mutters. "I'm going to go wait for Jess to come back."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," I say, walking away with her. "Jess won't be back for while."

* * *

**Jess**

"So, I have a theory about that monster," I say to Mr. Locke as we walk through the jungle on our way to the water. "Since we're on a deserted island, and nobody's ever known or set foot on this island . . . don't you think it's possible that it really _is_ a monster? Or, maybe an animal that went extinct hundreds of years ago, but survived on this island."

He laughs good-naturedly. "Maybe it is."

"We're here," Jack calls back from the front of the group.

The cave entrance is a big rock embedded into the side of a hill, with a ten-foot-tall hole right in the middle. As we go in, I can hear the soft trickle of a waterfall and the feel the cool relief of shade. It seems like the only place on the island that isn't totally bathed in sunlight.

"Wow," I say, looking around and taking it all in. "Nice place, Jack."

"How'd you find it?" Kate asks him, gaze shifting to him.

He shrugs. "Luck."

"What's all this stuff?" Charlie jabs some of the wreckage with his foot. "We should go through it, see if we can find anything useful."

"Good idea," Jack says. "Some of us can start loading some of the water, the rest look through the wreckage."

I open my pack, filled with plastic Oceanic bottles and canteens from the luggage, and help Jack and Kate fill them up with water from the waterfall. Locke and Charlie bring us their bottles and start picking through the wreckage, tossing away the junk and taking the goodies.

"I wonder how stable these caves are," Jack says aloud.

"What are you thinking?" Kate asks him, turning her head to him as she fills a blue canteen underneath the spray of the waterfall.

I'm not the _romance expert_ type - very, very far from it - but even I can see that these two have a thing going on.

"Nothing. Just . . . wondering," he says casually, and continues filling up bottles.

Kate mops the sweat off her forehead with the sleeve of her shoulder. "Let's not stay too long. This place is so damn _wet,_" she mutters.

"It's relief from the sun," Jack says matter-of-factly. "Protection, shade, fresh water - and it's comfortable."

"Too much bugs for my comfort," Kate says, brushing flyaway hair strands out of her face. "Anyway, if we were back home we wouldn't have to worry about protection and shade."

He grins. "Really? That doesn't come to mind when you're in the middle of the outback?"

I zone out and let them talk and flirt while I keep filling bottles. My mind wanders as I put each container under the water, let it fill to the brim, then screw it closed. The soft trickle and the spray of the waterfall is relaxing; almost therapeutic.

I think about rescue. When you've been on island for seven days and you haven't been rescued yet, there will be some controversy. Some people say rescue won't ever come and accepted the fact that they will be on the island forever, and the others still think that the search teams are just really late. What do I feel? I haven't really decided - I'm sort of on the fence about it.

What was life before the crash, anyway? I had a goal, but the chances of fulfilling it were so slim. I no longer lived with my family. Travelling the world was different when you were looking for something you probably wouldn't ever get.

Then I came here, to the island, and although I feel a burning desire to complete my mission in the real world, it feels like a broken part of me somewhere inside has been healed. A weight lifted off my shoulders. The mission has been incompleted, but what does that matter when you're no longer a part of it? Why worry?

"Jess. Jess? Jess, you there?"

I'm pulled away from my thoughts and my attention is snapped back to Jack and Kate. "What?" I say, having missed whatever they said to me.

"You seemed a bit distracted there," Jack says, concerned. "You okay?"

I nod my head reassuringly. "I'm fine. What did you ask me?"

"Well, Kate and I were wondering what brought you to Sydney," Jack says slowly, as if I'll miss it again this time.

"Sydney?" I repeat, my stomach dropping. _Oh, shit._

_Lie to them,_ I think. _You've had to lie before._ I can't tell is something I swore I'd never tell a single soul - all except for my mom, and one other person.

"What were you doing in Australia?" Kate asks with a smile.

I make my face expressionless and meet Jack's gaze casually, then begin forming my pretty lie. "Sydney was kind of a break for me, a chance to travel. Y'know, graduating and all . . ."

* * *

_The Australians just really loved their meat pies. They were everywhere - people eating them outside on the sidewalk, eating them at their "footie" games, in the grocery stores and anywhere you wanted to eat. There must have been a rule in Australia that required meat pies to be the king of all food. It was the DD doughnut of the Down Under. When I first got to Sydney, I mistook them for real American pies - the fruit kind._

_The café I was sitting at was no exception. In the glass case behind the counter were an assortment of meat pies, a cheerfully golden color and ready to be eaten. I ordered one with tomato sauce on the top and took it to a table for two near the window, eating while I waited._

_He should be here soon._

_When he finally came, he was carrying a manilla folder and looked flushed. "Got caught up," he said loudly in his Australian accent, grinning with his brown curls spiking out wildly. "Couldn't miss the ending to that game." _

"_Game?" I inquired, then thought twice and said, "Nevermind."_

_He lowered his voice so only he and I could hear. "I got something," he said seriously._

_I leaned forward. "Is it him?"_

"_Yep," he said, opening the folder. "It's him."_

"_Brendan," I said. "You have to be sure. This can't be a false alarm."_

_He nodded solemnly. "I'm certain."_

_He started to take the contents out of the folder, but then stopped. "You should take a look yourself." He pushed it across the table to me._

_As I peeked inside, he told me the story. "I traced a man named Dave Richardson from Washington D.C. to Sydney. Some friends of mine here researched him and told me that his name used to be Heath Dreyer . . . the name we found in Albuquerque."_

_I took a picture out of the folder. It was grainy and taking from a bad view (Brendan and his "network" aren't exactly professionals), but I could still see what it was a shot of: a man in his middle age, standing in an airport. At the bottom of the picture, it read _04:09:04 _- this shot was taken on September the fourth - and _51:32:16 _- at four o'clock in the afternoon. _

"_That was taken in Washington D.C.," Brendan said, pointing to the picture. "Look familiar?"_

_The man looked much older than the man I remembered, and his hair was different and he no longer had a mustache, but then again, it had been many years. And I still recognized his face, something I could never forget. "Yes," I murmured quietly. "This is definitely my father."_

"_I located the hotel he was staying at," Brendan continued. "By the time I got there, he had already left. The manager told me he wasn't in Sydney at all anymore. However, I did find one airplane ticket leaving Sydney. The code matched his own purchase. He was flying out of Australia entirely."_

"_Where?" I asked. "Where was he flying to?"_

"_Los Angeles," he told me. "In California."_

_My stomach dropped. Los Angeles was my home; where my mother lived._

"_Brendan," I said quietly, "you don't think he'll do anything to my mother, do you?"_

"_Why on earth would he do anything to your mother?" _

"_Well, he left when I was thirteen years old. Nobody has even seen him since then, and he's been inexplicably travelling around the world. He might be dangerous." I stand up. "I have to go back to her."_

"_Jess, hold it," Brendan protested. "He went to Santa Barbara after landing in LA. He's no longer in the same city as your mother -"_

"_He's still close," I said. I noticed the hesitant look on his face. "Are you in or you out, man?"_

"_Don't you think . . . it's time you take a break?" he asked quietly. _

"_A break?" I repeated, unsure if I heard correctly._

"_Yes, a break. You've gotten too urgent about this whole bloody thing to pay attention to anything else in life. Always so intense, so forceful -"_

"_So you've been fine with helping me for the past two years, but now you're no longer okay with it?" I said, my voice unsteady as my anger got to me. "And don't tell me how urgent this is and how I should act. This is my father. You don't know what it's like to want something so bad."_

"_Maybe that's the problem," he said. "You want it so bad. But maybe, maybe you should just . . . just let it go."_

"_I can't," I said, wanting to scream at him. "I lost my dad when I was thirteen, Brendan. I want him back."_

"_Ever wonder why he travels from place to place so much?" he said. "Ever think that, with all the effort he's made to not be found - he may not want to come back? What are you going to do if you find him, anyway?" _

_I shook my head, but no words came out. I remembered my mother asking me the exact same thing two years ago. I couldn't believe what he was asking me - he had never questioned my mission, always understood what I wanted. He had stuck with me through thick and thin. I guess none of that was the truth. Now he was asking me what everyone else asks, disapproving and demanding - he and I have lost understanding for one another. Another loss of mine._

_My heart ached, if there was ever such a thing._

_Finally, I spoke up in response to his question. "I'm not sure what I'll do," I said. "But when I find him, I will make him come back to my family. No matter what."_

_Brendan tapped his fingers against the table, unable to meet my gaze._

"_Why don't you understand?" I asked him softly. "You always understood me."_

"_Alright," he said. "Alright."_

"_Thank you for helping me," I tell him. Thank you isn't enough for all he's done for me, but it's all I have, and I need him. _

"_I'll be on the phone," he said. "I'm not coming with you."_

"_Fair enough," I replied with a faint smile. Stuffing the manilla folder into my satchel, I said, "Well, I'll call you in LA, okay?"_

"_Excellent," he said with a smile back, a trace of his old, normal, caring, humorous self._

_Giving him a last glance, I walked out of the café with my satchel and some new information. This was the best head-start I had ever gotten in my chase for my father._

_I looked at the café front, wondering why Brendan ever helped me in the first place. We met each other when he offered to help me, and never knew each other before that. He never asked for anything in return. We had become closely bonded through our great chase, but I hadn't realized how confusing things had gotten until it was almost too late. _

_Why did he help me? His motives still remained unknown._

_As Brendan would say, "Bloody Yanks."_

_I smiled at the thought, turned away from the café, and walked in the direction of my hotel with my satchel in hand._

* * *

As Jack, Kate, and I fill water bottles, I begin to notice something missing. The silence in the caves. The bad feeling. I can't place it for a moment.

Then I realize Charlie and Locke are missing.

I look around, but the caves are empty. Nobody except for me, Jack, and Kate. I don't remember them leaving, and why they would leave is a mystery, and also why they didn't tell us.

I grab Jack's arm. "Charlie is gone. And Locke."

"What?" Jack stands up, stopping his job. "Where?"

"I don't know," I murmur. "I turned around and they just weren't here."

Suddenly, footsteps start coming towards us from the cave entrance - fast.

Locke bursts out, looking like he had just run from something. "Locke!" Kate exclaims.

"Charlie's got himself into some trouble," Locke says before any of us can demand answers. "You might want to come."

I don't even have to know what sort of trouble Charlie has gotten into. Because at that moment, I hear the dreaded hum of tiny bug wings and it's coming closer and closer.

Bees.

The whole freaking horde of them comes bursting through the cave entrance, filling the air with the horrible humming sound. I run in the opposite direction, following my instinct blindly, and swat the air with my hands.

_Sting!_ A bee stinger pricks my shoulder blade.

_Sting!_ Three more on my arms.

_Sting!_ A gazillion more on my legs, face, and back.

When the bees finally clear, everyone is panting, groaning, and purely in pain. Red welts rise up and down my body, some of them with the stingers still embedded. I'll have to take some time pulling them out.

And there stands the culprit: Charlie, waiting by the front of the caves, rubbing the welts on his jawline with his face scrunched up in pain.

"Charlie!" I exclaim, more in shock than anger. "What on earth did you do?"

"Bee hive," he pants. "On the ground. Not in a tree."

The rest of the story is quite obvious.

Kate suddenly gasps, like she's seen a ghost (maybe not so unlikely on this island). She stares at something in the corner of the caves, under a small overhang.

It's skeletons.

I gawk at the two of them, placed side by side. Skeletons. On a deserted island. This means someone was here before us - maybe like the French woman. Maybe one of these skeletons _is _the French woman.

"There were men before us?" Charlie asks, no longer picking at his stings and staring in awe at the bodies.

Jack rushed forward importantly. "One is a woman," he told him.

"The French woman," I blurt.

"Where did they come from?" Locke asks, cool-headed and nonchalant as always. "It looks like they've been here a while."

"You're right," Jack says. "Had to have been here more than fifty years."

Hmm. That makes the chances of it being the French woman a bit smaller.

Jack pulls something out of the skeleton's hand. It's a black velvet pouch, small enough to fit in the crook of his palm. He dumps the contents out - two small stones, one white and the other black.

"What," I ask, but I can't finish my own sentence. Too much questions and not enough words to ask them.

"Excellent," Charlie mutters from behind me, voice practically quivering with excitement.

"We should keep them preserved," Jack says, and puts the bag back. We all clear away, unable to stop thinking about them.

* * *

Jack, Kate, and I start on our way back to the beach, with Locke and Charlie staying behind to salvage the wreckage.

Jack has a crazy idea that we should all desert the beach and live, literally, at the caves. We could build a dam, he says. We could move the infirmary off the beach, he says.

I just don't see it.

We stop by Sayid, who is chopping wood when we arrive. "About time," he mutters, and Jack hands him a bottle without even being asked. Sayid gulps it down thirstily.

He tells us all about some incident down at the beach - the Korean husband guy, Jin, attacked Michael. Surely he must know that it's most likely just a racial thing. Well, I guess he's from Iraq - maybe he doesn't know.

"We should start getting people off the beach immediately," Jack says, diving right in. "I'll talk to them, maybe even set up camp tonight."

Sayid blinks at him. "You're serious? You're actually considering this?"

Jack falters ever so slightly. Guess he didn't expect people to disagree with him.

"You want to bring us where we can't see any planes or ships," Sayid says, "and can't keep the signal fires burning so we can be rescued?"

"This is our best chance at survival," Jack argues. "Staying on the beach, without water and protection -"

"Nobody will agree to this," Sayid fumes, snatching up his firewood. "We won't just throw away our hope." He storms away, hair bouncing.

"I think Sayid's right," I say to Jack. "People might not like this idea so much."

"They will if they want to survive on the island," Jack responds crossly. He stands up, and me and Kate follow him back to the beach.

* * *

**Coree**

When Jack returns, he brings back two things: water, and a hike to the water.

The camp has split into two groups. There are the people who are going with Jack to the caves - the reasonables - and the people who cling to the beach, eyes peeled for rescue - the hopefuls.

I already know I'm going to the caves. Unfortunately, I find myself in the minority.

I trust Jack. And although I'm still desperately hoping for rescue, I don't have to the be the one keeping look out.

Which is why I'm absolutely shocked when Jess tells me she's staying on the beach. "I don't like the caves," she tells me. "The beach is more familiar for me. Anyway, I need to be here to see the rescue boat with my own two eyes."

"Okay," I say, utterly disappointed. "If I told you I was going with Jack . . . would that change your mind?"

She shakes her head, slowly, sadly.

I go to Ryan next, hoping for the good news that he'll be at the caves tonight as well. But good news is yet to be found for me. "Not a chance," he tells me. "I don't care if I starve to death on this goddam beach. I'm not leaving."

Leo is my last stop. Same answer. I get the feeling he has some dark agenda, some sort of secret, but whatever it is, he won't share. "I have to stay on this beach," he says with an apologetic look.

And lots of my other friends, too - Kate and Claire are staying as well. Michael and Walt? Nope, staying on the beach. I can't say I quite understand why almost everyone decided to be the first ones to spot the rescue ships. Don't they want to actually survive?

The only two people I've got left are Jack and Hurley, I guess.

I pack everything I got - my dance bag, some of the clothes I took from the baggage, my own blue canteen and headphones. The walk to the caves is extremely short, considering I had been expecting a ten-hour-long trek across the entire island.

"Cool," I can't help but mutter when I enter the caves. The whole place is like a little house made out of tunnels carved into rock, with air conditioning and a water fountain. Kind of like a modern-day Hobbit hole. It's so . . . cool. Literally.

"I'm _so_ glad I moved down here instead of the beach," I say, placing my belongings in a spot between Jack's and Charlie's.

I sit in the crook of a rock and hold up a picture. It was my dance picture, an image of my jazz class. Everyone was there. Everyone, including Izzy.

I'll remember them. I won't dwell in the past. I've let go.

I put the picture back in my bag, go back to my sleeping spot, and snuggle up on my blanket-bed next to Jack. I'm so exhausted that I fall asleep right away.

* * *

**Chapter title: "Crossroads" by Don McLean.**

**Remember, if you're going to read, please review!**

**Thanks and happy writing!**

**CG**


	5. Mountains

**Yo! Sorry for the long wait in between updates. This chapter took a while.**

**And . . . I've recently become obsessed with The Office.**

**And Tumblr.**

* * *

**Jess**

Sayid's got a plan. Is there ever a time when that man doesn't? Who knows if it'll even work - his last transceiver-related attempt didn't go so well - but I think this might be it, the thing that will succeed.

Here's the layout: Sayid, Boone, and Kate and I will create a triangle across the island with three antenna. We'll use bottle rockets (yes, really) to communicate with each other and tell if we're all in the right positions. If the French signal is within our triangle, then we'll be able to find out the location of the signal. If we can get to the signal, then we might just be able to send out a distress call and finally get the hell off this island.

Boone stays on the beach with his own antenna and bottle rocket, and Kate, Sayid, and I hike to our points in the jungle together. Kate and I will be, according to Sayid, heading about two kilometers inland, while he will be heading higher into the mountains, forming a rough triangle.

"Will this really work?" I ask as we trek through the undergrowth. Today is an exceptionally hot day, even for tropical weather. I can feel beads of sweat under my eyes, my neck, my forehead, just about everywhere on me.

"I have higher hopes for this," Sayid answers from ahead of me. "Last time we attempted to send a mayday, we didn't know what to do about the French signal. Now we know better."

"It's just . . . whoever sent that French signal, they never got rescued," I say. "What makes us any more likely to be found?"

"I'm confident about this plan," Sayid responds simply.

Kate walks alongside me, observing our conversation silently. I wasn't sure what to think of her when I first met her. She seemed so ordinary, and yet _not_. To be honest, I still don't know if I like her or not. She's not loud, and that's an upside.

"I suppose Jack didn't approve of this," Sayid says offhandedly, speaking to Kate.

"He wants to get off this island, just like any of us," Kate replies in Jack's defense. "I can't say I don't understand why he wanted to move to the caves."

I feel a fresh pang of guilt when the caves are mentioned. Coree was so disappointed when I told her I was staying at the beach. I told Coree I would take care of her - now I abandoned her, letting her go on her own. This morning I tried to talk her into coming back to the beach, but she wouldn't hear it.

"Well," Sayid says as we hike on, "it's the people's choice to move to the caves or not. Right now, we have to focus on getting the rest of the survivors rescued."

* * *

**Ryan**

"No, that's not how you play BS," I tell Walt. "If you put down the wrong card, and I call it out, then you have to keep it."

Me and Walt sit across from each other at a table made of airplane pillows and cardboard, hiding our cards from each other with a stack of more cards sitting on the table. I've become good friends with Walt, especially from teaching him the card game BS. He doesn't seem to quite grasp the concept of it, though.

"That's dumb," Walt remarks.

"It's the key to the whole game," I reply in defense.

"Come on, you've been making up all these rules," he pouts.

"Relax, Hermey. I promise you, these are all real rules that I didn't make up," I tell him, even though that's not entirely truthful.

I hear Michael calling from across the beach. "Hey, Walt! I can't find the dog anywhere. You seen him?"

"Yeah, he's around," Walt answers.

"Thanks, little man. Hey, Ryan," Michael says to me briefly.

When me and Walt's card game comes to an end, and after I've crushed him, he stands up in defeat. "I'm going down to the caves for water," he grumbles.

"Hey, I'll get some for you, if you want," I say. "I was just heading down there anyway."

I walk down the path to the caves, which is short and has become somewhat distinct from so many people travelling to and from the beach. Despite being a definite "beachie", I find myself visiting the caves often. I'm not sure why I like the place so much.

Most of the people are busy organizing the luggage when I get there. Since not too many survivors went to the caves, they're more spacious than it looks from the outside. The air is cool compared to the hot sunlight, but there are so many bugs it's hard to enjoy the shade.

I pass by Coree, who sits up against a rock with her face buried in a book titled _The Time Traveler's Wife._ "Hey," I say, nudging her foot.

"Hi yourself," she mumbles distractedly, focused more on her story.

Ever since the camp split up, she hasn't talked to me much. I think she's mad at me. She wanted me to come with her to the caves. Why? I stayed on the beach because I wanted to, and she went to the caves because she wanted to, and that's what happened.

"How's your book?" I ask, reclining against the flat face of a rock.

"Mmm. Good. Don't tell Sawyer I took it from him." Her face is unsmiling, but I can hear the humor in her tone.

"Coree," Jack calls, walking up to us. "Wanna help with something? With all the people coming to the caves, I thought I might check out the back. Just see far in they go."

"Sure," she says, putting down her book. "Be right there."

She disappears with Jack, off to do some volunteer work or something. I fill two water bottles for Walt and myself at the waterfall and grab a tube of sunblock from the luggage while I'm there, since I'll be living on the beach from now on.

"Hey, Ryan," Hurley says to me, holding a stack of comic books in his arms. "You seen Leo around? These are his."

"He's at the beach," I say. Leo is one of the people I dislike on this island, and it bothers me when all those stupid adults mix us up.

"Thanks, dude -" Hurley begins.

He's cut off by a tremor in the ground and a loud rumbling coming from the back. A second later, a huge section of the cave ceiling collapses in on itself, causing a huge cloud of dust to rise up in big puffs. I turn away, covering my eyes and coughing. When I look back again, the whole area has been completely buried.

Charlie scrambles out from under the rock, covered in soot and dust. I don't see anyone else under the ruins.

"Where's Jack?" Hurley yells. "Charlie, where's Jack? Where's Coree?"

Coughing on dust, Charlie lifts a hand and points towards the pile of rubble.

* * *

**Jess**

We're almost two kilometers in when I hear footsteps behind me and out walks . . . Sawyer.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Kate demands.

"Came here to tell you something," he says, but she turns away from him.

"Let's just go," she mutters to me and Sayid.

"Easy! Hold on," I hear Sawyer following us. "I just came to pitch in."

"You're here to _help_," she repeats incredulously.

Sawyer sighs from behind me. "Sorry you wasted a trip," I say to him, unable to hide that trace of amusement in my voice.

"I ain't turning back that fast, Hollywood," he snaps back, but I can already see the dimples appearing on his face.

* * *

As we keep walking, I can feel the tension from before wearing off. The look of disgust on Kate's face when Sawyer joined us is gone.

"Why'd you come?" I ask Sawyer, slowing my pace to match his as Kate and Sayid tromp on ahead of us.

"I told you already," he says. I notice he walks really loudly. Like he's trying to snap every single stick he sees underfoot.

"Nuh-uh. The truth," I tell him. "Why'd you _really_ come?"

Before he answers, I hear Sayid call, "We're here."

Our group stops at the edge of a small open field, surrounded by tall, thick-branched trees and short green shrubs that sway in the breeze. Sayid sets his pack down and takes out the antenna.

"You want to help?" Sayid says to Sawyer. Sawyer turns to face him and nods. "Attach this antenna high up in that tree." He points to one of the tallest trees in the area.

I shield my eyes from the sun and watch Sawyer pick his way up the tree with the antenna in hand. There's always the possibility that he could drop it and destroy our plan entirely, but somehow I don't find myself worried.

"I'll go on ahead," Sayid says to me and Kate. "Remember: five 'clock, watch for my flare."

"You want me to come with you?" I ask.

"It's best you stay here," he says. "Just make sure you fire the flare after you see mine."

"Got it," Kate says. Sayid nods and trudges away, backpack slung over his shoulder. I turn to look at Sawyer again, who is busy attaching the antenna onto the tree branch with the straps.

"Okay then," I murmur. "Let's do this."

* * *

**Coree**

It's dark. And it's dusty.

I have trouble remembering everything that happened before the cave-in: I was hanging out with Jack as he checked out the back of the caves, then Charlie came in and starting shouting . . . and before I knew it, the ceiling was collapsing.

I can't see or hear anything except for a faint ringing in my ears and the muffled sound of my own gasping. The small amount of air I have left to breathe under these rocks will likely be gone soon. How long do I have before suffocating? An hour? Two minutes?

And it's not like I've ever had claustrophobia, but this - being trapped under a large pile of rocks - is just way too much.

I use the little space I have to lift my arms and nudge the rocks around me. Some dust falls from the ceiling and I sneeze, then hack into my elbow, then sneeze again. My chest rises and falls as my lungs fight for air, each breath harder than the last. I feel myself panicking. I need to get out.

I begin pushing and pulling rocks out of the way, making some more space for myself. The work is long and exhausting, and breathing is steadily becoming more difficult. I hope I'm not too far in - I wasn't when the rocks starting falling. I hope Jack and Charlie got out in time. . .

I work. I push rocks and pull rocks and scrape my elbows and knees and gasp for breath and cough on dust and sneeze and get soot smeared all over my face and work my way to light. I don't cry, though. I don't cry. I just work.

Finally, with one final push, light streams in through a crack between some rocks. I find myself smiling from ear to ear with relief, and soon after my shoulders are shaking with laughter. My whole body feels cramped and every limb aches, but I'm just so happy to see this hard-earned light, and I'm so close to feeling it . . .

I shove a rock away, and I'm free.

Scooting forward on my belly, I squeeze through the small hole and climb out into the open - the fresh-aired, no-claustrophobia open. I recognize the dark green shrubs hanging from the rocks, the soft smooth floor, the soft trickle of the waterfall. I exhale sharply, but I'm so used to having to gasp for breath that I take too much oxygen and end up coughing again.

And before I can even raise my head to meet the eyes of the other survivors, I already hear them calling my name.

It's mostly just a rush of chatter directed at me: "Coree - you're alive - where's Jack - how did you get out - are you okay - help her - get her some water -"

I spot Charlie among the crowd, absolutely filthy, but still a-okay. _Thank god._

Hurley and Michael kneel down and help me up. "Dude, you rule," Hurley blurts out, and embraces me in the bone-crushing, bear-style, you-know-you-deserve-it Hurley hug.

"Coree, did you hear or see Jack in there?" Michael asks seriously, supporting me by my arm.

I blink, feeling like someone just threw a rock (ugh, I've had enough of rocks) at my stomach. "Jack didn't get out?"

Michael doesn't even have to speak - his face gives away the answer.

No.

"Do you know if he's . . . alive?" I murmur, feeling a lot weaker than I was five seconds ago.

"No. Not yet," Michael says quickly. "But we've been moving around some rocks, trying to dig further in -"

"Then why is everyone standing around!" I yell, feeling frantic. _If I lose Jack . . ._

I kneel in front of the pile of rocks and blindly begin digging. The others follow behind me slowly, moving rocks.

_Jack was like a father to me on this stupid damn island,_ I think, and unlike before, I find myself actually wanting to cry.

I need to get Jack out. I need to get Jack _out._

If he dies, I'll just . . . I don't know what I would do. I'm not letting it happen.

* * *

About a half-hour later, we've made some good progress digging, but no sign of Jack yet. Some of the survivors are busy with moving the rocks, while the rest bring water to the workers and take the rocks away. I'm too focused on getting Jack out to worry about anything else. I _need_ Jack to be alive.

"Hey, Coree," Michael says, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You should take a break, y'know? You haven't had any water. Just rest a little -"

"No thanks, Mike," I say, wiping the sweat and soot off forehead with my arm. "I'm okay."

"Maybe you should just have some water -"

"I'm fine," I repeat, firmer this time. I stare back at him until he gives in.

Sweat drips down the back of my neck. It's so hot in here that I finally just end up tearing the sleeves off of my t-shirt and using them to wipe off my sweat. I get back to work.

One of the survivors - Steve, I think - comes up with the idea of sticking a pole through the opening in the rocks. We grab one from the lost wreckage near the waterfall and begin working on making an opening in the pile of rocks, at least big enough to fit the pole.

After endless time of digging passes, I finally hear Michael shout: "We've got a hole! We're through!"

I stop my work as they stick the pole in, pushing it in as far as they can go. "Jack!" Hurley calls into the hole. "Jack! Dude, you there?"

I hold my breath, waiting for an answer. The caves fall silent except for the sound of the waterfall and the birds.

"Come on, Jack," Hurley says again. "Dude, come on."

The sound of moaning suddenly comes through.

_He's alive._

"Jack!" Hurley exclaims. "Jack! I can hear you, man. You okay?"

I hear coughing. Then his voice comes through, muffled but still audible. "_I can't move. I'm pinned. I can't move -_" He's cut off by more coughing.

"Bro, listen, we're gonna get you out," Hurley reassures him.

More coughing. "_What about Charlie?_" Cough. "_And Coree? Is Coree okay?_"

"She's fine," Michael answers. "She got out. Charlie did, too."

"Jack!" I call, kneeling beside the hole. "It's Coree. You're not hurt, are you?"

"_I'm okay -_" cough, "_-just can't move. I'm okay._"

"We're gonna get you outta there real fast, okay, man?" Michael says.

He coughs again and moans. I wince every time.

"Alright, if we try and make the tunnel any bigger, it might collapse again," Michael says, moving through the crowd. "Someone will have to go in there."

"I'll go," I volunteer. Everyone stares at me.

Michael shakes his head. "No way, Coree. That's not gonna happen."

"Why not?" I ask, holding his gaze. "You think I'm not _old_ enough?"

"You we're just in trapped under rocks," Michael says, turning away. "Maybe I could try and squeeze in there . . ."

"Michael," I say, firmer. "Let me do this."

He leans closer and says quietly, "You don't have to prove yourself, man. And you don't owe anyone anything."

I'm not sure what to say.

He turns back to the tunnel. "Listen, I'm gonna try and squeeze through. I might be able to -"

"I'll do it," says a voice behind me.

I turn around and see Charlie standing by himself. He walks through the crowd to Michael.

"You and Coree are still too shook up," Michael says, but Charlie cuts him off.

"Look, I can _do_ this," he insists. "Just let me do this."

"Michael," I say pleadingly.

Michael looks between me and Charlie hesitantly. Then he says, "Okay, man. You climb in there, unpin Jack, and we'll get the two of you out. Got it?"

"Yep," Charlie says, and Michael hands him a flashlight. "Anything else?"

"Go slow," Michael orders. "Don't nudge the rocks. Try and be safe, yeah?"

"Good luck," I say to Charlie.

Boone hands him a water, and with one last glance, he climbs into the tunnel.

I'm a little mad at Michael for saying no to me and yes to Charlie, but I decide to forget it. Someone is going in to rescue Jack, and that's all that matters.

I pray for Charlie to get Jack out quickly and safely. For the plan to work.

* * *

**Leo**

"I'm going down to help with the cave-in," Molly, a twenty-year-old Australian, tells me. "Wanna come?"

Molly helps me fold my laundry. I luckily found my bag a few days ago, but it was mostly empty from being picked clean by the others when they were sorting baggage. Fortunately, there's only four people on this island who would ever even wear my clothes: me, Coree, Ryan, and Walt. Speaking of them, I haven't seen Coree, Ryan, or Walt since this morning.

"How many people are already helping?" I ask.

"Loads. I'm not sure how much luck they've had, though. You coming or not?" She hands the pile of clothes to me.

"I'll only get in the way," I tell her, trying not to seem lazy. "Nobody wants a kid helping out."

"Nobody cares if you're a kid," she says. "Not now, at least."

"You believe that? I don't."

"Well, kid or not, they need help," Molly says, tying her hair up. "If Jack doesn't survive this, we won't have a doctor anymore."

I blink at her. "Jack . . . what - ?"

"When the cave collapsed, Jack was buried," she says. "Wow, Leo, you really didn't hear much, did you?"

"Was . . . was anyone else buried?" I ask, swallowing uncomfortably.

"Yeah. Charlie, who got out, I think . . . and that girl. What's her name? Coree, or something -"

I'm up and running towards the treeline before she can finish her sentence. "Oi!" she calls. "Leo, where you going?"

"The caves," I answer without turning around. "To help out."

* * *

_The hotel smelled good. That's what I loved about hotels. They always smelled good, the beds were comfy, and for the most part, they were quiet._

_On our last day in Sydney, I felt depressed that we we're leaving so soon. Me and Natalie had been there a week, and to say it was the best vacation ever was really an understatement. Sydney compared to Seattle was practically heaven. It was sunny but not too hot, big but not too crowded. Heaven._

_I stared out the window from our room as Natalie packed up her stuff, everything except for the bikini and summer dress she was wearing. "Want to come with me to the pool one last time?" she asked._

_"Sure," I said. "Okay."_

_I heard her grumbling as she zipped up her suitcase. "You don't have to be so sad, y'know. We'll be staying at Aunt Jill's and Uncle Brian's for another week."_

_"Virginia isn't really the same as Sydney," I replied, turning my head._

_"Hey, I like Virginia. Remember Union Street? That restaurant that you loved? Yeah, well Aunt Jill said she'll take us there if we want." She unplugged her phone from the wall. "To be honest, I kind of wish we lived in Virginia rather than Seattle."_

_"There won't be accents," I said._

_"Sure there will. Southerners."_

_I rolled my eyes and looked back out the window. I noticed people walked around more in Sydney rather than driving._

_"Hurry up and get your swim trunks on, butthead, or I'll leave you behind," I heard Natalie say._

_I sighed and stood up, but at the moment, Natalie's phone rang._

_She growled under her breath and answered her phone loudly: "_What?_"_

_I couldn't hear what the voice on the other end was saying, but whatever it was, it wasn't good. I watched as Natalie's face went from grumpy to shocked to horrified._

_"What are they saying?" I asked her, but she shushed me._

_She finally closed her phone and sat still for a moment. Then she stood suddenly and slammed the door shut really, really hard._

_"What the hell is wrong?" I yelled._

_"Dad's gotten into an accident," she answered flatly, storming to her suitcase and grabbing a pair of jeans._

_I blinked as a knot in my stomach formed. "What happened?" _

_"Car crash." She gave me an angry look._

_No._

_I lay down on the bed and covered my face with my hands. Car crash. It didn't feel real. Natalie had gotten into a minor car accident when she was sixteen, but nobody was hurt and she was just being reckless at the time. "What are we going to do about it?" I asked quietly._

_"We'll tell Aunt Jill and Uncle Brian we can't go," she called as she changed in the bathroom. "I'll buy us some tickets to LA, and we can take a smaller flight to Seattle."_

_I was too shocked to cry. Dad's life in danger. My vacation ruined._

_"That was Mom on the phone, wasn't it?" I said. "Was she okay?"_

_"Yes, Leo, she was fine," Natalie snapped, coming out from the bathroom and stuffing her swimwear back into her suitcase._

_You knew things were bad when she called me by my real name._

_I got off the bed and sat next to my suitcase, staring at the far wall. Why did this have to happen? Why now? I hated how everything good that happened to me had to be destroyed. _

_I couldn't grasp it._

_"I'll buy the tickets," Natalie said, but she didn't go to her laptop. Instead, she sat down next to me and put her arm around my shoulders._

_Neither of us spoke a word. I just held on to her arm._

* * *

The caves are surprisingly quiet when I get there. I burst through the entrance rather loudly.

"What's going on?" I pant, stopping as everyone turns and looks at me.

And it's at that moment that I see Coree, covered in soot, standing there by the rock pile. Not buried.

She embraces me quickly, but her face isn't exactly happy. "I'm glad you came," she murmurs.

"I heard some people were stuck in the cave-in," I say. "You seem to be fine, I guess. What about Jack?"

She bites her lip and gives me a look. _Oh . . . shit._

"Jack was trapped," she explains quietly. "So Charlie went in to get him . . . and the hole collapsed."

The caves are so quiet I would be able to hear a pin drop.

"We've tried to get them out," she says. "But . . . we haven't seen or heard a sign that they're alive since."

"We should keep digging," I say, feeling oddly lightheaded.

"We're working on it," Michael responds. "I've been thinking . . ."

"We have to hurry," Hurley interjects. "Who knows how long they have before they run out of air -"

"Maybe if we used that pole again -" Coree suggests.

"The rocks might be unstable -"

"Okay, okay, let me think!" Michael snaps, kneeling next to the rocks, and pushing them gently.

Coree sits on a rock shelf, chin resting in her hand. I sidle up next to her. "First cave-in?" I ask her jokingly.

She gives me a half-grin. "Yep. And yourself?"

I sit down and let my hands fall into my lap. "Jack . . . he's gonna be fine, y'know."

"Stop it."

"I'm serious, Coree."

"There's no way you could know that."

"He knows it."

"Leo, I appreciate you being nice to me and all, but . . . I don't need to be babied."

"Yeah, well . . ." I rub my forehead. "You also don't have to worry so much."

She looks at me. "You a therapist or something?"

"No. No." I crack a smile. "No, definitely not. But, seriously - Jack's gonna be totally fine."

* * *

**Jess**

"Five o'clock yet?" I call to Kate.

Sawyer rolls his eyes. "You asking if it's five ain't gonna make it five, Genie."

"It's four forty," Kate says. "And some of us actually care about making this work, Sawyer."

"I never said I didn't," he responds, sitting against a rock with an amused expression.

I pace around the area, gazing at the mountains in the distance. They're so beautiful it almost looks like they've been green-screened. How big is this island? A few miles from end to end? For a deserted island, that's pretty big. It's amazing that this place hasn't been discovered yet.

"So, goldie," I hear Sawyer say, "how's the babysitting?"

I stare at the sky and count to ten. _Will he ever leave me alone?_ "What babysitting?"

"Y'know, you and Sammy Keyes. What's her name again?"

"Coree," I tell him with a glare. _Four . . . five . . . six . . ._

"Surprised you didn't go with her to the caves," he says. "Actually, I'm surprised you ain't at the caves right now."

Kate steps forward, eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

He winces, then raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. "You don't know?"

"Know _what_?" I snap.

He turns to Kate. "Looks like our divine leader's been trapped in a cave-in down at the plaza."

"Jack . . .?" I ask, slowly realizing what he means.

"Yeah, Jack," Sawyer says with an obnoxious smirk. "What, didn't see it on the news?"

Before I can even turn my head, Kate whips around, grabs her pack, and sets off towards the trees in the blink of an eye.

"Kate!" I yell. "What are you doing? What about the flare?"

She doesn't answer, and I watch her disappear into the jungle.

"You bastard," I mutter to Sawyer. "Why do always have to be such a goddam prick?"

He puts his hands up in defense. "Hey, she didn't _have_ to go storming off like that."

"Now I have to -" I stop because I'm fuming so much. "Look, asshole, I get that you don't give a damn about this flare, and I haven't got a fucking clue why you even came -"

"Easy, sister, I want off this rock just as much as you do."

"Really?" I shove the bottle rocket at him. "Why don't you do it, then?"

I turn around and start heading to the treeline. "Goldie, where you going?" Sawyer shouts.

"Caves," I respond.

* * *

**Leo**

The caves are quiet except for some quiet discussions between some of the survivors. Michael thinks that if we keep digging, we must disrupt the rocks even more and trigger another collapse. If we rush, the rocks will buckle in. If we wait too long, Charlie and Jack will run out of air.

It's fucking scary.

Me and Coree sit next to each other, not talking, brooding quietly. I can see her trying to hide the fact that her hands are trembling, and she's got tears in her eyes. I can't imagine how worried she must be. Even though we've only been on this island for eight days, she's already formed a close bond with Jack. I guess a sort of fatherly relationship, in a way.

I think about my dad. He's probably still in the hospital. The car crash he got into was bad, but not fatal; I know he's okay.

I think about Natalie. I don't if she's okay.

If Natalie is alive, where would she be? I think. She was in the bathroom, the tail section, when we crashed. Back on the first night we were here, I couldn't stop crying because I thought she was dead. Now I wonder if the there were survivors from the tail section. Maybe somewhere else on the island. Who knows, they might even think _we're_ dead.

I've never really been much of an optimist, nor a very faithful person, but I do believe that my sister may be alive.

"Why hasn't rescue come yet?" Coree mumbles.

I'm taken aback. "I . . . guess they're just their time . . . ?"

She scoffs and rests her chin in her hand. "I don't want Jack to die," she whispers so, so softly that I can barely hear.

I open my mouth to tell her that Jack won't die (not that she'll like me saying that), but I'm cut short when I hear: "Where is Jack? Where is he?"

Turning around, I see Kate running through the entrance, ponytail swinging wildly behind her. She throws her backpack down and looks around desperately.

Michael stands up. "Kate, I'm sorry."

"Michael? What's going on?"

"Kate, sit down and I'll tell you."

"No, I want to know if he's okay. Right now."

Michael hesitates, looking down at his feet while Kate stares at him. When he meets her eyes, he says, "We don't know if he's okay. Charlie went in there to rescue him, but it collapsed."

Kate glances around angrily, her eyes burning. "Why is nobody digging?"

Slowly, everyone begins again - pulling the rocks away and carrying them out. Coree has a crazy determined look in her eyes, digging non stop as she moves around rocks. I work next to her.

Michael tells us to go extra slow and to be careful around unstable areas. The people that aren't digging are busy bringing us water and clearing the caves of excess rubble. It's a good system, but the work is so painstaking and it feels like we'll never get Jack and Charlie out. If they're even alive.

Just when it beginning to feel like all our hard work has been for nothing, Walt exclaims: "It's the doctor!"

It can't be.

Coree springs to her feet and runs to where Walt is. Sure enough, two figures, one tall and the other short, appear at the entrance of the caves. The others run to greet them.

It is Jack and Charlie. Filthy, and alive.

Kate embraces Jack in a hug, her face lit up. I see Jack wince and grab his shoulder. Hurley claps Charlie on the back and gives him a bone-crushing hug, something that makes _me_ wince at the thought of having my ribcage squashed like that.

Coree's face is wet. I open my mouth to say something smart to her, but she runs past me before I can even make a sound. I watch her practically jump on Jack, standing on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his torso with her face buried into his shirt.

"Dude," Hurley says, standing next to me. "I am so glad this is over."

"Yeah, me too."

Hurley sighs. "Hey, I hear Locke's got some fresh boar meat. You hungry?"

"Sure," I say, nodding. "I could eat."

* * *

**Chapter title: "Mountains" by Lucy Spraggan.**

**Thanks and happy writing!**


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